


What's Left Unspoken

by DontForgetToPanic



Series: what's in a family [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: #Bantz, Age Difference, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar Disorder, Civil Partnership, Dissociation, Domestic, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I should be working on my dissertation not writing fanfic about these two YouTube nerds, M/M, Meet the Family, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, References to Depression, Road Trips, Slice of Life, Sometimes Adrian and Martyn get their own POV and I had way too much fun writing that, but not relationship-wise, just because its mentioned a bit, references to, regarding the B plot, sometimes Dan thinks about his mental health in a less-than-healthy manner, the A plot is linear, which is so #relatable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/pseuds/DontForgetToPanic
Summary: So he imagines what Sunday dinners could be like, how his parents’ kitchen table is made for four but maybe they can make room for five, because kitchen tables are for families and maybe their family seats five.But they’ve never been invited to a Sunday dinner, so Dan stops wondering.~*~Where Dan wishes he wasn't a stranger to his own family, Phil and Dan support each other, people don't always need words to speak, and there's no such thing as being saved.Featuring: puns, family roadtrips, a wedding, and the inability to express emotions.





	1. Exordium

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about Dan (or Phil's) family, this is all purely fictional. Families are complicated and messy, and I wanted to explore how family relationships sometimes become clearer when adulthood hits.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan ignores his own emotions so it’s easy to see the emotions of others, while Phil’s hyper-aware of his own feelings at the expense of reading others. But he has tried for years to learn Dan’s language, discovered how most of the time Dan needs quiet company, while sometimes he needs all the windows open until the city’s noise drowns out the noise in his head. It took Phil one lesson he hopes to never learn again when he forced Dan to the hospital, just like he learned to be still and hold Dan’s hand when it’s pressed against the white sheets of a hospital bed. He learned to tell Dan he carries an extra white pill and an extra pink pill in his wallet for when Dan forgets, but he also learned not to share how he carries a pale tablet as well.
> 
> He’s learned over the years, so he knows right now Dan needs Phil to stay awake with him, even though it’s 2am and they woke up early the day before.

“Of course I said yes. I’m just surprised he asked is all, we don’t exactly know each other well.”

“You two always talk when you’re together.”

“Once a year on Christmas,” Dan reminds her, to which his mother’s responds with a hum.

Dan hums back while he searches the kitchen cabinets for his skillet.

“So then, are you also going to be at Derek’s wedding?” Dan asks half a minute later.

His mum hums again, and this time Dan interprets her hum as a  _yes_. He’s become quite proficient in interpreting her hums. 

“Derek asked Adrian to be one of the groomsmen," she continues, "Actually, Adrian can probably help you plan the bachelor party, he’s good at those kind of things." Her voice sounds tinny over the phone. 

“Yeah, I’ll probably do that.”

Silence.

Dan uses the knife sharpener to reach the skillet which, for some stupid reason, is wedged above the fridge.

He waits for his mother to continue the conversation, but all he hears is her moving around her own kitchen.

Dan wonders how Phil fills awkward silences when on the phone with Kathryn. He immediately discards that thought because Phil and his mum don’t  _do_ silences.

“Have you booked a hotel?” Dan finally asks. It’s easy to talk logistics.

“Derek’s wedding isn’t until May,” his mum answers. If Dan was a teenager she would add  _don’t ask ridiculous questions_ , but physical distance sometimes lessens emotional distance, so it remains unspoken.

“I’ll probably book it in a few weeks,” Dan says, “Why don’t I book yours at the same time? I get discounts on hotels since I travel so much.”

“Oh Daniel, I couldn’t ask that.”

“I’d like to, it’s no problem,” Dan presses. His words hang in the air.  

A soft  _ding_ sounds from his laptop. Bry’s number pops up on iMessage—she and Phil will be back in a few minutes.

“Okay,” his mum says, distracting him from his laptop with a start because honestly, he’s surprised she accepted. It’s kind of nice…feeling useful for her.

“Great.”

Silence.

The Monkfish he and Phil bought this morning at Billingsgate Fish Market begins the sizzle on the stove.    

“Should I book two rooms for you? Or is Grandma coming as well?”

“Grandma and Derek aren’t exactly related, are they?” His mum says. He assumes she means  _no_.

“Is Adrian bringing a plus one?”

“He started dating a really sweet girl a few months ago,” she says. He assumes she means  _yes_.

“Her name’s Megan, you’ll love her,” she adds, “she comes around for dinner every Sunday.”

Dan’s chest tightens. It sounds like she’s smiling but he can’t quite picture it; her smile is a rare thing. Does his mum smile during Sunday dinners? What would that be like, a Sunday dinner, just his parents and Adrian and…and Phil.

Now he just can’t help but picture it—how his mother would cook chicken and his dad would chop some lettuce for a salad, how the chicken wouldn’t taste like much and the lettuce would be cut a little too large. One chair for each, his parents, his brother, his partner—

His parents’ kitchen table is made for four but they’d make room for five because kitchen tables are for families and their family seats five.

So yes, five would be seated for Sunday dinner, and five would be seated while his mum says something mildly pretentious that, if it came from Dan, would make Phil roll his eyes (accompanied by a fond smile). Afterwards Dan’s father would take too long to tell a story but Phil would laugh anyway.

Phil always laughs.

He and Phil would have brought some pudding for dessert—Adrian would finish half of it before anyone else had taken a bite, and afterwards Dan would help his mum do the dishes while Phil somehow succeeds in making an awkward conversation with Dan’s father a little less awkward. Phil would drive because Dan’s license had expired and it would take an hour to get home, but they’d be happy they bought the car anyway, because there’s no better way to spend their Sundays.

But they’ve never been invited to a Sunday dinner so Dan stops wondering, and when he starts to feel a bit jealous of Adrian he pinches himself and searches for a spatula.

His mum clears her throat, a reminder that Dan’s still on the phone, talking about cousin Derek’s wedding. Dan searches for something to say as he pulls out four dinner plates from the cabinet.

“That’s nice,” He finally responds, “I’m glad Adrian found someone nice. It’s nice, it’ll be so nice to meet her.”

He hopes his mother doesn’t notice his voice, how it got a little more quiet.

 “You’ll love her,” she repeats. Dan restrains from using the word  _nice_  again.

Silence.

His mother’s the one to break the silence.  

“Oh, but how will I pay for the hotel?”

Hotel? Oh, for the wedding. He’d forgotten what their conversation had even been about.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“Daniel, we’re there for a week, I can’t expect you to afford that,” she insists—he can practically hear her frowning. Unlike her smile, her frowns are never in short supply. 

Every time a conversation turns to money he wonders what she thinks he earns, since Dan’s too awkward to ever say anything and she’s never paid mind to his career. He’d rather her not know anyway.

“You can pay me back when we see each other, then,” Dan insists. At least then he’d just shred the check.

His mother hums. He takes it to mean  _okay_.

Dan checks on the fish. He thinks he hears his mother chopping something.

Silence.

He’s relieved when the front door opens and Phil’s voice give life to their house, so he says he’s got to go.

He tries to call her _mum_ but his voice can only manage _Lydia._

Before they hang up Dan hears the faucet running and pots clanking on the other end of the line. It sounds distant, like a sound he hears when he’s thinking really hard about something, and for some reason he can imagine what she looked like just then, in her kitchen. His mum standing by the stove throwing some frozen vegetables into the steamer, her cell’s pressed between her ear and her shoulder. Whenever she was home for dinner he would do his homework at the kitchen table just so he could watch her multitask—it was fascinating how she could seamlessly transition between cooking and talking and jotting things down in her notebook propped open on the counter.

She could only do three tasks at a time, though, no more. Three tasks at a time, so when he tried to talk to her she gave The Look and point to his homework.

He would quiet and look down, because he was the fourth task and she could only do three at a time, but when she turned back to the stove and said something to her friend he would look back up and continue to watch her—he was the fourth task and she could only do three, but the three tasks she did she did with ease. She couldn’t cook much but what she cooked she cooked with skill; she didn’t talk much but what she said she said with grace. He never saw what she wrote in her notebook, but he did know those notes would turn to ideas and her ideas would turn to articles, and though her articles wouldn’t be famous, they would still be clever, perfect.

He was her fourth task but she was his first, because here in the kitchen he knew she was everything he wanted to be.

__

Even before they formally dated, before they even  _met_ , Dan had the power to make Phil feel exposed, transparent—Dan always had an answer before Phil even knew the question. Dan knew when Phil wanted to hold each other and when they should sit on opposite sides of the couch. When Phil has a migraine Dan knows when to turn off the lights and hold Phil through, but he also knows when to place a glass of water on Phil’s nightstand and sleep in the other room.

Dan ignores his own emotions so it’s easy to see the emotions of others, while Phil’s hyper-aware of his own feelings at the expense of reading others. But he has tried for years to learn Dan’s language, discovered how most of the time Dan needs quiet company, while sometimes he needs all the windows open until the city’s noise drowns out the noise in his head. It took Phil one lesson he hopes to never learn again when he forced Dan to the hospital, just like he learned to be still and hold Dan’s hand when it’s pressed against the white sheets of a hospital bed. He learned to tell Dan he carries an extra white pill and an extra pink pill in his wallet for when Dan forgets, but he also learned  _not_  to share how he carries a pale tablet as well.

He’s learned over the years, so he knows right now Dan needs Phil to stay awake with him, even though it’s 2am and they woke up early the day before.  

“I almost asked her but I did the thing and forgot,” Dan whispers into the night.

“Your space-out thing?”

Dan nods, curls a leg over Phil’s hip. Sometimes when Dan sleeps this way Phil teases him for looking Dewey the koala. Tonight’s not one of those times.

“You’ve got months, love.”

It’s quiet but it’s never silent—they don’t know silence when they’re together. Right now Dan’s ear presses against Phil’s chest and like a song Phil’s heartbeat promises everything will be okay. The thing is, Dan knows Phil’s heartbeat’s right, but anxiety defies logic so instead Dan focuses on his own breathing, tries to match it to Phil’s heartbeat.

“If you’re not ready,” Phil whispers, “you don’t have to do it now, we have all the time in the world. You can wait as long as you need to.”

Dan tries to hum like how his mother hummed this evening but instead it comes out sad and Dan’s not supposed to be sad, no one likes a sad boy make sure you behave you’re so handsome when you smile stop being so loud you were such a happy boy what happened why can’t you—

“I’ve waited to be ready, been waiting eight years. I don’t think I can ever be ready,” Dan tells the still darkness of their bedroom.

It’s quiet. Phil expects Dan to say more but time passes without a word, and honestly Phil doesn’t understand the significance anyway, meeting Dan’s parents here in London. They’d see each other at the wedding anyway, London’s not that special anyway, they’re moving away from the city soon anyway.

But an anyway for Dan is bigger than any anyway for Phil, because it’s impossible to understand when you grow up in a family who doesn’t know silence.

Seconds before he falls asleep Phil feels Dan’s heart quicken, and Dan finally breaks the quiet with a whisper:

“I won’t wait.”

________

They go to the  _Ghost in the Shell_  premier this evening for two reasons and two reasons only: First, these kind of premiers always have free popcorn, and second, the  _Ghost in the Shell_  media franchise is fucking good okay? Yes, they both know this’ll be a Wonder Bread train-wreck, but if they lived through the Last Airbender movie they can certainly live through this.

Afterwards they go to Nandos because they’re dressed in suites so  _it’s_  ironic  _Phil, it’ll be a_ laugh _, Phil_.  _Don’t you want a cheeky Nandos, Phil?_

Phil’s just sat for three hours wearing a suite that doesn’t quite fit while watching a movie he just knows Dan’ll be complaining about for weeks so no, Phil  _isn’t_  particularly inclined to go relive an outdated meme; he wants a restaurant with candles and tablecloths and two courses minimum, three preferred. And the thing is, Phil knows he could easily get his way, but he’s tired and Dan’s still giggling to himself over their potential “””””cheekiness””””” so Phil just rolls his eyes and starts walking.

“I don’t understand why we’re going to a chicken restaurant when you’re vegetarian,” Phil grumbles. Dan grins and rushes to catch up with Phil. 

“For the lolz, darling, it’s always for the lolz.”

After they eat they walk home side-by-side, footsteps in sync and lucky enough to only run into one subscriber on the way. Dan’s got his suite jacket flung over one shoulder while Phil’s got a bag of leftovers in one hand and a paper cup of lemonade in the other; both hands occupied means it’s easy to ignore the urge to touch, instead to keep the practiced half-meter distance between them, leave room for the vigilant third-party shadowing them everywhere but at home.

“I got a call from Jaden today,” Dan says.

“That’s nice.”

He hopes Dan doesn’t notice how he doesn’t remember who Jaden is.

Dan notices.

“He’s the guy Ian introduced us to last year,” Dan explains, “the one who works at VP theater.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Dan nods, “he’s also quite convenient.”

“Odd way to describe a person.”

“Well, it’s true, since he just so happens to have early access to Hamilton tickets.” Dan’s smiling so hard it probably hurts, and Phil a bit scared because this means Dan’s obsession with musicals will last at least two more months, probably years if he likes the show. It’s going to be [i]La La Land[/i] 2.0.

“Awesome-sauce,” Phil says, because he’s a little shit and knows Dan hates that phrase. Dan doesn’t react this time, though, and Phil would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit disappointed.  

“I bought eight.”

Phil gives his “give me some more info” grunt.

“tickets,” Dan clarifies, “eight tickets. quite expensive, but American politicians are always worth it.”

The spicy chicken’s still settling in Phil’s stomach making Phil a little low on words, so he grunts again to ask Dan  _why so many tickets?_

“I was just going to get five,” Dan answers, a bit softer than before, “but I remembered they also have a plus one.”

“Oh,” Phil says, unsure where this’s going.

“Mom’s been saying how much she’d like to see it.”

“Oh,” Phil repeats.

“It’s the day after a bank holiday, so there’s no reason why they can’t come here,” Dan continues. Phil’s pretty sure he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince Phil.

It’s quiet. Phil knows Dan doesn’t like to walk in the quiet.

“Who’d the extra two tickets for?” Phil asks.

“Not sure yet,” Dan shrugs, “thinking Martyn and Cornelia?”

“What if they can’t come?”

“Bry and Wirrow?” Dan shrugs.

“And if they can’t come?” Phil asks, cracking a small smile to match Dan’s  _I’m so done with you right now_  face.

“Then we can bring someone from the Manchester gang.”  

“And if they can’t come?” Phil asks, smiles, laughs.

“Well,” Dan huffs, “I’ll pay a random on the street to join us, then.”

“We don’t have the money,” Phil calmly explains, “I pay you to be my friend, remember? Most of my income goes towards that. Nightmare when doing taxes, mind you.”

“Can’t I just use my salary? Dealing with your shit must pay pretty well” Dan asks.

“Danny, you silly goose, the money goes towards your  _agency,_  not you. They pay you by financing the Netflix account.”

Dan takes a deep, exasperated breath. Phil fails to hold in a smile.

“I’m leaving you,” Dan finally replies, but Phil doesn’t pay much mind since Dan’s laughing all the while.

 

When they get home they take off their suites but leave on their smiles, and Dan doesn’t hesitate to push Phil onto the bed and give him a _this was a really nice day_  blow-job.

____

“So you’d pass London on your way to Cambridge,” Dan says, his voice rising at the end to sound like a question.

“I’m not sure what cities we fly past,” His mum says, “I’m not well-versed in geography. I can quote a hella lot of Polanyi, though, does that help?”

Dan’s surprised to hear himself laugh, and while it’s hard for him to tell since she’s got the phone on speaker, he’s pretty sure she’s laughing as well. It’s nice, they should laugh together more.  

“I think London and Cambridge are in the same direction.”

He knows it is, but he doesn’t want to sound snarky.

“Alright,” she says. Dan can tell she’s still smiling, but he can also tell she wants to say  _why’s this matter?_

“I was just thinking…” Dan trails off, nervous, and for fucks sake he’s an adult just ask her.

“That’s nice, being able to think’s always a good sign,” she says. He can tell she’s smiling; she must be in a good mood.

Dan’s suddenly a little less scared.

“Someone gave me Hamilton tickets. As..as a gift.”

A white lie, small enough not to spiral, big enough to help her say yes.

“Well that sounds amazing,” she says, “Diana’s son just saw it and said it’s wonderful.”

 “Yeah,” Dan agrees, “but the thing is, she gave me too many tickets.”

“She did?” She asks, sounding a little more interested now that she’s heard the word “she.” Dan tells himself he’s imagining things, her phone’s still on speaker maybe it’s just hard to hear her.

“I thought maybe, I mean it would be nice if…I hope you…” Dan stutters to a halt.

He sits down in one of the kitchen chairs and takes a deep breath because this is it, he promised himself he’d stop trying so hard if (when?) she said no. He’s been trying all his life and he’s tired of being the fourth task.

Dr. Pitt tells him he’s worth being the first task—he’s repeated that to himself enough to almost believe it.

“I would love it if you guys would come with me, it’d be nice to all go to the theater together again, we used to have a nice time.”

Dan’s heart speeds up as soon as his words spill out, and he waits.

Silence.

“Oh Daniel, that’s so sweet but we’re really busy right now.”

“It actually works out perfectly,” Dan says, teetering just on the edge of speaking too fast, “the show’s on the Saturday before we leave for the wedding, you could come to London Friday—it’s May Day so you wouldn’t be missing work or anything. And like, we’d all be traveling Sunday anyway so we could all tour London a bit before we go, it’d be nice since you haven’t seen the city since I moved.”

“We visited last year to see the footie game.”

Shit, he forgot—they came while he was touring the States.

“There’s a lot to see.” Dan takes another breath. It’s okay, he only fumbled a bit, he can recover.

“Such a nice offer,” she says, “but two trips back-to-back is too much. Another time, maybe.”

Silence.

He’s lost count of the times he’s heard her maybe; he’s asked so much and the answer stays standing. But he’s waited too long of a time for her  _maybe_  to come true, every time he asks she gives him a  _maybe_  and with it she gives him false hope. He’s clinged to her  _maybe_  for two years in Manchester, five in London. He can’t hold onto a  _maybe_  forever.

 “You wouldn’t really be taking two trips,” Dan finally says, “London’s more like a detour.”

“Daniel, we—”

This might be the first time he’s ever interrupted her, but there’s a first time for everything. He uses one more of his firsts and tells her something he’s never said:

“I miss you.”

Silence.

He can’t hear anything on the other end of the phone.

Maybe he’s become her first task. Dan stops himself from clinging to that hope.

“Is there anywhere to park the car at your flat, or should we just fly there?”

___________

“I said we’d pick them up since it’s only an hour drive.”

“Can you turn the hall light off?” Phil asks in lieu of responding to Dan’s statement.

Dan, unamused, diverts his attention to Phil from where he’s rifling through the closet.

“I’m looking for my white trainers, you turn the light off.”

“I’m comfy,” is Phil’s convincing reply, “I’m already in bed.”

He can’t help but grin because somehow Dan looks so  _done_  even when he’s standing up to turn the lights off. Afterwards Dan aborts his mission to find the MIA shoes, instead slipping under the duvet and rolling on his side to look at Phil. Phil’s glasses have slid halfway down his nose, so Dan uses his ring-finger to push it back up.

“Okay,” Dan says, “as I was saying before you  _rudely_  interrupted, I told my mum we’d pick them up so we should probably leave at 10:30 Friday if we want to get there by noon.”

Dan stops talking so Phil raises his eyebrows to say _why would you say that, we don’t even have a car._

“My license expired,” Dan explains, “so you’ve got to drive which yeah, it’s a scary thought but I totally believe in you. Mostly.”

“I’m pretending that’s a compliment,” Phil decides.

“We can rent a car,” Dan continues, “probably a mini-van or something since we’ll have six people and a fuck-ton of luggage.”

“Damn, I get to drive a mini-van? My street cred just skyrocketed,” Phil says. He’s oddly proud of himself when Dan roll his eyes.

“We’re about to move to the suburbs, Phil. You’ve got no street cred.”

“Rude,” Phil taps the tip of Dan’s nose with his finger, “are we driving straight back?”

“Mum suggested going out to lunch first, so we’ll probably do that, but yeah then we’d drive home.”

“It’s a nice drive,” Phil says, “scenic.”

“Eh.”

“Why couldn’t they just fly?” Phil asks, because as much as he wants time to make a good impression with Dan’s family and a quasi-roadtrip feels like diving straight into a murky lake.

It hits him with a sharp wave of panic—the first time he meets Dan’s parents will be spent in an hour-long car ride.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect her to say yes, she always fights these things,” Dan answers. When Phil doesn’t say anything he reaches over to cup Phil’s cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, just thinking too much,” Phil mutters, and Dan frowns but doesn’t push, instead tucking a few strands of hair behind Phil’s ear.

_Just thinking too much._  Otherwise known as Dan and Phil shorthand for  _I don’t want to talk about it_.

“My dad’ll probably want to sit in the front seat on the drive home, so you’re stuck keeping conversation with him,” Dan continues.

Phil internally groans because perfect, a whole hour to potentially saying something stupid.

“What would we talk about?”

“Anything, really,” Dan shrugs, “he takes, like, a year to tell one story so you can probably just whip out your active listening skills and nod along.”

“But does he have any hobbies or anything?” Phil presses, “What does he like?”

Dan shrugs again.

“Nothing in particular really, he always went through phases. He built model trains for a while but then got bored. Likes house music, used to work on a lot of movie sets. Still likes action movies, I think…” Dan trails off. Phil figures he should stop asking questions.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Dan says about a minute or two later, “we never talk much, not even when I was young.”

Phil doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know how to respond, so instead he does what he’s good at—diverting the conversation.

“Adrian won’t mind sleeping on the futon, will he?”

Dan huffs out a laugh.

“Please say you’re not going to do that thing where you’re over-hospitable and try to give the guests tea every five seconds. And you better not offer to give up the bed, Adrian will probably say yes and I am  _not_  sleeping on the futon.” Phil huffs while he laughs again and rolls over so he’s half covering Phil, his face pressed in the space between Phil’s shoulder and neck.

Phil’s slow to wrap an arm around Dan’s waist because unless it’s after sex they don’t often cuddle—when they do it usually means something. Bodies far apart but hands clasped tight: Phil’s scared. Dan’s head against Phil’s heart: his anxiety’s too loud. Phil’s limbs curled tight in Dan’s arms: his mind won’t turn off, worried about something and everything and nothing at all.

And now, Dan’s faced pressed against Phil’s neck and Phil’s arms wrapped firm around his waist—Dan wants to say something but is too scared to make eye-contact when he does.

It’s quiet, not silent. Phil runs his left hand softly down the bare skin of Dan’s back.

“Adrian’s girlfriend’s coming as well,” Dan whispers.

“You said.”

“She goes over to my parents’ for dinner every Sunday.”

Phil nods, soft, sympathetic even when he doesn’t see why it matters. But with his voice muffled by both Phil’s skin and the pillow, Phil knows this meaningless sentence means something. He just has no idea what.

“We’ll all still be here Sunday, I can cook something for everyone.”

“We don’t have enough chairs,” Dan mumbles.

“I’ll ask to borrow some from Bry,” Phil says, “or I can just go buy some, no big deal.”

It must be a big deal to Dan, though, because Dan doesn’t reply and Phil doesn’t know what to say, why doesn’t he know what to say?

“I’m tired,” Dan says, barely audible. When Phil hums Dan can feel the vibrations in his throat. Aside from that neither of them move.

_____

Dan excuses it as spring cleaning but that doesn’t make Phil any less wary.

It starts the exact same way: hand-washing the floors, soaking their cutlery in vinegar, buying new showerheads, bleaching the tub, renting a machine to clean the carpet. The insomnia appears around the same time.

Phil never know how to prepare for what comes afterward.

This time he helps Dan clean mostly to keep an eye on him.  Dan doesn’t sleep that night so neither does he, choosing instead to hold the chair Dan stands on to clean the top shelf of their cabinets, and he chooses to watch Dan re-dust the places he already dusted before. Of course Phil worries because that’s what Phil does, but he tells himself maybe he shouldn’t worry because aside from Dan’s lack of sleep and obsessive cleaning everything’s okay, there’s been no talking or sex or socializing or excitement. Dan’s perfectly calm and lucid and that’s a good thing, it must be a good thing, needs to be a good thing.  

It’s not a good thing when he finds Dan sitting on the kitchen floor in the dark, but this time Phil’s caught off guard, because each time it starts the exact same way so this isn’t how it goes, the empty stares don’t come until later.

Phil doesn’t know if he’s allowed to sit, so keeps the lights off and stands in the doorway.

“Should I get Dr. Pitt on the phone?”

Dan shakes his head.

“I’m just tired,” he mumbles, “everything’s fine.”  

He’s talking. Good. Phil takes a step closer.

“It is fine?”

Dan nods. He doesn’t flinch when Phil sits down.

“I’d still be able to tell at this stage.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, but I’d lie to you,” Dan says, “I’d say I was fine. But I’m not.”

“Not fine?”

“Not lying.”

“So you are fine?”

Dan pulls his legs to his chest, rests his chin on his knees. 

“I already said so, didn’t I? Fuck, Phil, I’m obviously not ‘bout to go all manic.”

He looks down, he sounds tired.

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Phil says, moving a bit closer so they’re only a few breaths away from touching.

“What question?”

“Are you fine?”

Quiet. Dan sighs.

“Not sure.”

“Okay,” Phil says, “tell me then, what were you thinking right before I walked in?”

“Not sure.”

“You sure you’re not sure?” Phil asks. Dan releases a soft laugh and puts his head on Phil’s shoulder; Phil takes that as a win.

“I was reminding myself to buy groceries when the shops opened up,” Dan says.

“And before that?”

“Trying to remember if I washed the guest bedsheets along with ours.”

“You did,” Phil says, “and before that?”

Quiet. Dan starts to pick at his fingernail. Ring finger, right hand. Phil loves that finger.

“You.”

“What about me?” Phil asks.

“I’ve known you for what, three-fourths of my life?”

“Not sure,” Phil grins, “I don’t believe in math.”

Dan smiles for a moment. He starts to talk a little clearer.

“They’ve known about you for 8 years. Still never met you.”

“Not like they pretend I don’t exist or anything,” Phil says, “I’ve talked to your mum on the phone before, they’ve sent me a holiday card three years in a row. Your parents even sent me a birthday gift this year.”

“They got you a book.”

“ _Lawrence in Arabia_ ,” Phil agrees, “it was good.”

“You never finished it. I’m not sure anyone in the world ever finished it. Not even sure the  _author_  even finished it.”

“Still good though,” Phil says.

Quiet. Phil rests his head against Dan's.

“It’s my fault,” Dan whispers. Phil knows he’s not talking about the book.

“I never told them we’re together.”

“You’ve made it very clear to them, there’s no magic words you need to say to make it official,” Phil says.

“But I never told them,” Dan insists, “I hide us…I barely even talk about you when I call my mum. I never shut up about you around anyone else, but I’m silent when I talk to my mum.”

Phil takes a moment to arrange his thoughts.

“There’s a difference between not talking about me and hiding me. Just because you don’t feel comfortable talking about our relationship with your family doesn’t mean you’re pretending we aren’t a  _we._  You told your parents  _we_  are picking them up on Friday. You told them  _we_ are going to Hawaii for our anniversary. Hell, a few weeks ago you told your mum how  _we_ need to fix the heater in  _our_  bedroom. You have made it unquestionably clear that we are together, just because you didn’t make some huge announcement for it doesn’t mean you’re hiding us.”

When Dan doesn’t respond Phil grows scared he said too much or said something wrong, but then Dan laces their fingers together and he can suddenly breathe again.

“I didn’t invite them when we went to the courthouse.”

“That’s different, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing” Phil whispers.

They both know that’s not why.

“Your family was there,” Dan points out.

“They were already around, they still lived in Manchester.”

They both know that’s not why.

“I didn’t send them the pictures, I didn’t call them, I didn’t even send a text,” Dan says. His voice is starting to sound a bit garbled, a bit wet.

“You were in an entirely different situation, there was a lot going on then, you had no obligation to tell them,” Phil says, firm.

Dan’s unconvinced.

“It would take 30 seconds to tell them, all I needed to do was call and say  _hi guys! Hope everything’s good, by the way Phil and I just spent 20 minutes filling out paperwork so yeah, we’re civil partners now. It’s cool, taxes are pretty simple now and the joint bank account makes apartment hunting easier. Don’t worry, there won’t be a wedding since the law won’t let us get married or anything._ ”

“You make our relationship sound so romantic,” Phil says. Dan reveals something close to a smile.

“Besides,” Phil continues, “it’s understandable that you didn’t want to see their reaction.  Back then we hadn’t known each other that long, I was a stranger you met on the internet, was basically the reason you dropped out of school, didn’t really have a legitimate job in their eyes…not to mention how I’m way older than you.  Any reasonable parent would be less than enthusiastic.”

Dan grips Phil’s hand tighter.

“You’re not that much older than me,” Dan says, in lieu of a real response.

“Five years.”

Dan shakes his head.

“Less than five.”

“More than four,” Phil insists, “and either way, I was 25 while you were 20. Not something most parents get excited about.”

“I was days away from turning 21,” Dan presses. Phil sighs.

“We don’t need to have this spat again.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter because it’s been years and I still haven’t told them. They won’t care now, wouldn’t even say anything probably, I’m so stupid so so stupid to care this much.”

“Nothing stupid about it,” Phil says, “you’re just waiting until you’re ready.”

“All I do is wait. You told your parents the second we started dating.”

“People are ready at different times.”

Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s shoulders.

“What if they do care?” Dan mumbles.

“That won’t happen.”

“What if they don’t care?” Dan whispers, almost inaudible, hoping the blanket of night won’t overhear his fears.

Phil freezes up, searching desperately to find something to say, to reassure. He takes over a minute to form his words.

“You know,” Phil finally whispers, as if to tell a secret, “you are more important to me than anyone I’ve ever met. So I’ll admit it…I’ll never be your parents biggest fan, because they never let you know how important you are.”

“But,” Phil continues before Dan can speak, “I will work my hardest so your parents will approve of me, us…you. Whatever’s important to you is important to me, so I’m going to make them love me even if I have to fight someone to do so.”

They just sit there for a moment, leaning against each other in their dark kitchen, the smell of bleach and vinegar still lingering in the air from the morning. Dan’s closed his eyes and Phil wonders if he’s fallen asleep, but then Dan giggles as if he just remembered a joke.

“Like you would ever get in a fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talks of mental health issues.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Follow me on Tumblr if you want <https://dontforgettopanic.tumblr.com/>


	2. Berkshire, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil bumps their shoulders together as he walks outside and Dan's perfectly happy without a key, that key always felt lonely and he’s anything but lonely now. 
> 
>  
> 
> tw in the end notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such kind comments, you've really made my week. 
> 
> edit: I went through and edited this chapter at the end of December because I noticed a few typos and then I just went overboard. I didn't change anything plot-wise though :)

Phil’s thankful to be living in the technological age, because pre-iPhone-calendar-app-Phil forgot every important date unless his mother reminded him. As it is, Phil still forgets his schedule even with Google Calendars, but that’s okay because Dan can keep him in the know since he has the memory of. . . something with an above average memory. It’s a good system.

However, there  _are_ a few days ingrained in Phil’s mind, locked in with the upmost clarity. He never forgets birthdays because birthday celebrations are literally the best thing ever, and he’ll always remember the exact moment he took the leap of faith and became a full-time internet dweller. And most importantly there’s the 10th of April 2011, a.k.a. the best day of his life, a.k.a. the day they became partners.

Most of the time he’s glad to hold onto these memories and protect them with everything he has, but there’re a few days he desperately wishes he could forget.

 One of those days happen to be 23 September 1998, his Year 7 Fall Social.  

He’ll admit, after 19 years Phil can’t remember everything about that day, not the exact words they uttered or how they looked; hell, he doesn’t even remember their names. Their actions aren’t what haunts him, it’s the memories of how they made him feel, how cold his arms and cheeks felt against the wind while standing on that beautiful girl’s front porch, waiting and waiting for her to open the door. He can still feel it, sometimes, how cold he felt inside when the beautiful girl’s friend opened the door instead, hand delivering a note, _the_ note asking why Phil would actually come, _the_ note reminding him how he’s a freak and why would he think she’d  _actually_  want to go to the dance with him, who would want  _that_? He remembers feeling cold (so cold) when he saw that heartbreaking girl hiding behind the door to spy on him, all of her friends crowding around her and failing to stay out of sight. He’s a crier (much to his father’s dismay), and that day was no exception as tears branded his icy cheeks. He stood frozen on the heartless girl’s stoop until someone finally slammed the door shut, stood frozen until his tears hardened like icicles against his skin.  

He remembers the feeling of not feeling, of being cold for days, weeks.

Some things he can’t forget no matter how much he wishes to, things like how his first anxiety attack hit him an hour after his smile was stolen from him by that beautiful, ugly girl. He wishes he could forget afterwards, frozen at home in his kitchen doorway with tears still frosted against his face and fingers still chapped from the wind. His mother held him in that doorway, held him like how she did every time his primary school bullies brought out his tears. His mother held him close while a sharpened knife piercing his lungs, sharpened fingernails clawing at the dark hole that became his soul, the only source of light his eyes perceived was at the end of a narrow tunnel, an empty, hollow tunnel stretching lightyears above.

It’s rare for him to relive that feeling from 23 September 1998, but he’s reminded of it now while he’s sat in a parked car, Dan a calm presence in the passenger seat softly going on about Harry Styles.     

“I feel kind of bad liking his album because I complained so much about Zayn’s music, you know? But like, Harry just sounded  _so_ good live on SNL and who can hate the Kiwi music video, it was about cake and puppies, _no one_ hates cake and puppies. And yeah I know I promised myself I wouldn’t choose favorites after One Direction broke up but, like, I thought that would be an easy promise to keep you know? Because I haven’t liked  _any_ of their music and stuff up to now, but then of-fucking-course Harry had to come and ruin my resolve.”

Dan takes a breath and, after a moment of hesitation, places his right-hand face up between their seats. He shifts a bit in his seat to check on Phil who’s breathing has reverted back to semi-healthy levels and looks to have somewhat relaxed in his seat, but Phil shoulders begin to tense up again the longer it stays quiet so Dan returns to his calm (so carefully calm) spiel about how it’s probably okay to be more loyal to Harry since they wear a lot of the same clothes. Fashion before fandom and all that.

The thing is, Phil and Dan have been together long enough to figure out a system for just about everything, including how to deal with Phil’s anxiety attacks. It’s a pretty simple system, actually—Phil likes to ignore things, and what better way to ignore your problems than listen to one of Dan’s infamous ramblings about something no one cares about?

So Phil listens to Dan’s carefully calm voice navigate a carefully calm topic, focusing on those words until they drown out the loud screeches pounding in his head, focuses until the screams are replaced with the way Dan says ‘ _literally._ ’

 

Dan’s still talking about Harry when Phil finally laces his fingers with Dan’s, hands resting on the console between them as a silent way to let Dan know he’s okay, that _we can talk, now._

“Better?” Dan murmurs, voice still controlled, carefully calm. Phil’s not sure he likes that tone outside of a panic; now that Phil can focus a bit more Dan sounds too hesitant, too scared.

“Mostly,” Phil whispers, not looking over to the passenger seat.

“It’s been years since that last happened.” 

“Over three.”

“Why?” Dan asks. It’s a simple question, but when Phil tries to respond no words come out. . . why  _did_ he suddenly have an attack? 

_You’re about to meet your in-laws, stupid,_ his brain kindly supplies, but Phil shushes that voice. He’ll think about it later.

“I think it’s just been building up for a while,” Phil suggests, “I think now that we’re less busy the anxiety I’ve been ignoring decided to all say hi at once.”

Dan squeezes Phil’s hand and keeps his eyes trained on him in that way that never fails to make Phil feel exposed, as if Dan already knows his worries, his _real_ worries, before they’re even formed.

 _You’ll mess everything up with his parents and Dan will hate you for it,_ his brain chimes in again and damn, his brain really needs to chill out.

“I guess I’m just a bit more worried than I thought I was,” Phil admits, mostly just to get his brain to stop bullying him.

“About meeting my parents?”

“Yeah,” Phil nods.

“I threw up before I met yours,” Dan supplies, which he’s told Phil before but, just like every story they tell each other, it always feels new.

“I think a panic attack trumps some puke,” Phil says, already smiling again.

“Okay,” Dan smiles back, “I’ll give you that one. Although the older lady I threw up on might feel differently, and the train  _did_ smell pretty bad afterwards.”

Phil releases a soft laugh and squeezes Dan’s hand a little bit tighter. They both sit still watching each other for a moment until Phil sits back up, releasing their hands to start the car’s engine again.

“We’re going to be late to get your parents, we still have to get the suitcases from the house  _and_ pick up Adrian and Megan,” Phil says, sounding a little more worried than he wants to.

“We’ll just tell them we hit traffic,” Dan shrugs.

“I hate being late,” Phil says, as if Dan doesn’t already know.

“You first need to tell me what you’re really worried about, you’re keeping it bottled in again,” Dan says, still watching Phil even when Phil chooses to stare at the street instead.

Phil signs. Dan makes it really hard to suppress things.

“I guess…what if they don’t like me?” Phil asks, voice soft, quiet. Dan reaches for his hand again.

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone who doesn’t love you,” Dan says, leaning over a bit and kissing Phil’s shoulder, much to the man’s surprise. That’s awfully close to PDA and PDA is an unofficial no-no.

“And,” Dan continues, “even if they don’t like you, even if they  _hate_  you, it wouldn’t matter. Because I’ll still love you. Don’t forget, you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not, you softhearted artichoke.”

Phil rolls his eyes even though they’re both radiating levels of fond even Phil finds disgustingly sweet. He sticks out his tongue and drives down the block to pull into the driveway of Dan’s family’s home.

 

***

 

“Because,” Dan says again, rolling his eyes.

“For fuck sake you weirdo, you’re not answering the question,” Phil says (pouts) while he follows Dan into the Howell’s living room.

“What question?” Dan asks, pretending to sound confused. Sometimes Phil gets so fucking stubborn it’s unbelievable, and there’s no better time to troll him than at his most stubborn.

“Why don’t you have your own key?” Phil repeats.

“A key to what?” Dan asks, trying to sound as puzzled as can be. He can’t surpress a smile when Phil pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. There’s three suitcases stacked in the living room and, mostly just to hide his grin, Dan grabs two of them to take to the car.

“Everyone has a key to their parents’ house,” Phil persists.

“They moved houses and I was never arsed to get a new one,” Dan shrugs, finally giving an honest answer because if he kept up the act he’s fairly certain Phil would burst a blood vessel.

“That was five years ago,” Phil says, confused. Dan takes a deep breath and now  _he’s_ the one exasperated.

“Come on, when would I even use it?” Dan says, a little too forcefully. Phil considers that for a moment and finally stops asking.

Yeah, it feels little weird for Dan not to have a key, but not for the reason Phil’s suggesting. It’s because when he was in school Dan always kept his housekey on a chain around his neck—he couldn’t bear to lose it unless he wanted to be stuck on his front porch for hours waiting for his parents to get off work. He never forgot his key, luckily, so five days a week he’d unlock the front door to be welcomed with silence, greet that silence with unease because something about a perpetually empty house left him feeling lonely. The cold metal of his key was a constant reminder of that loneliness.

Phil bumps their shoulders together and Dan can’t help but smile back at him. Dan’s okay he doesn’t have a key, that key always felt lonely and he’s anything but lonely now.

Dan starts to follow Phil to the car but freezes in the doorway, leaving Phil puzzled when he darts back inside. Moments later Dan reappears, heavy winter coat in tow.

“I forgot it in their guest bedroom over Christmas,” Dan explains.

Even though it’s already spring it’s sometimes cold enough to require a coat rather than one of his sweaters or jackets and, seeing how Dan gravitates towards incredibly thin tops, Phil always insists that Dan wears  _his_  coat, because  _honestly Dan, unlike you I wear clothes actually made for the cold._

So Dan wears Phil’s coat and no one mentions how he could have easily just bought a new one.

“You should keep using mine,” Phil says, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the growing flush in his cheeks and a sudden inability to make eye-contact. 

Dan full-on giggles.

“Why? You like me in your clothes or something?” Dan whispers, switching for teasing to flirting in a second flat. He doesn’t have to ask; he knows Phil likes it, just as Phil knows Dan knows he likes it, just as Dan knows Phil knows Dan knows he likes it.

Doesn’t mean Dan doesn’t like to hear Phil say it.

“Mine’s warmer, you get cold easier than me,” Phil rationalizes, cheeks growing impossibly pinker. Dan hums to ask _is there any other reason?_

“And,” Phil confesses, eyes wide, “it may or may not be cute when you wear my clothes.”

They gravitate towards each other until they’re as close as they can be in public, lost in their own little world even though they’re stood on the porch of a house Dan barely knows. After a moment Dan leans back, a sudden twinkle in his eye.

“Gross, I’m telling our subscribers about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a detailed description of an anxiety attack.


	3. Berkshire, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take a few steps away from the car, which is slightly annoying because now Adrian doesn’t get the pleasure of witnessing the classic "introducing your boyfriend of 7-plus years to the parents for the first-time" performance. Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be cliche and apologize for not uploading in forever. I've had quite a difficult time health-wise and I just couldn't bring myself to write. I'm feeling a lot better though and I really missed writing this fic.
> 
> Thank you all for such kind comments, you seriously have no idea how much it means to me. I would write this story for an audience of one, but I'm so happy that some people seem to like it.
> 
> Also, I changed the names of Dan's parents since he doesn't seem to want it to be public information.

He doesn’t even have his own brother’s phone number. Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

“Fuck,” Adrian repeats down at his phone.

He keeps glaring, first at his phone and then at everything while he walks down the street, carrying the half-empty paper bag Megan packed for him. Dan’s supposed to pick him up from Megan’s house but there’s no way in hell Adrian can stand to be around her one more second…  something that creates quite the problem since Dan’s notably absent from Adrian’s contacts. 

The thing is, Adrian can’t focus on fixing this since all he wants to do is get as far away from his newly minted  _ex_ -girlfriend because fuck her, fuck her crooked smile, fuck her warm house with her warm family with their warm hugs. . . just fuck every fucking thing.

He looks back at Megan’s house, now almost out of view.

“Fuck you too, bitch!” He screams, hoping she’d hear it; however, he instantly regrets that because damn that’s a shitty thing to say, maybe he should apologize, maybe he should text her to say sorry and—

No. He’s never talking to her again, for reasons she stated herself because “we’re  _18,_   _Adrian,_ we shouldn’t get too  _serious, Adrian,_ you probably won’t get into U. Manchester anyway, not like  _me_ ,  _Adrian,_ we couldn’t make long-distance  _work, Adrian._ ”   

“But could I still meet your  _brother, Adrian_?”

Adrian trips on an uneven break in the pavement and is  _just_  able to catch himself from falling face-first into the cement. He can’t say the same about the paper bag, though.

“Fuck.”

Adrian doesn’t cry; crying was always Dan’s thing. Dan used to be able to cry at anything and their parents  _hated_  it, so much so that it always brought out the worst in them. It took until he was 16 to learn how to hide his tears behind a blank face and closed lips; Adrian, however, never had that problem. He learned from Dan’s mistakes, learned to never let the tears fall in the first place.

So no, Adrian doesn’t cry but he’s close to it when he sits down on the edge of the pavement, feet flat in the divot of the gutter. He doesn’t bother to clean up what spilled, doesn’t want to look at his shirt she used to sleep in or the framed photo of them from spring formal. He moves a bit to the left once he realizes he’s sitting on one of the CDs he made for her when he thought CDs were more romantic than making an iTunes playlist, but apparently he’s wrong. Apparently he was wrong about a lot.

Adrian’s too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice a dark-blue mini-van drive by, nor does he see said van back up and stop across from him in the middle of the street. Not until a voice calls out his name does Adrian look up, startled to see his brother getting out of the passenger seat.

It’s been half a year since they’ve seen each other, so Adrian can’t tell if Dan’s changed or if he just forgot what his brother looks like.  Dan’s a little bit tanner now that winter’s turned to spring, and he might have lost a bit of weight or something because his cheekbones seem more prominent than before. There’s something about him that wasn’t there before, almost like a glow.

If he wasn’t so emotionally drained Adrian would laugh… he’s not sure if Dan’s  _trying_ to mess with mum or if he’s just dumb, because Dan’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans Adrian just knows mum with hate. Although they do look good, though.  As does his—holy shit shoes must have cost almost a grand. Mum used to scold Dan about how he’d only wear a pair of black lace-ups held together by duct tape. Time might actually change things.

At least Dan’s fashion sense has improved, thank god.

But there’s still something different about him and Adrian can’t quite figure out what it is—maybe it the return of Dan’s curls, or how his jumper’s an actual color, or how, for a moment, Dan’s smile actually reaches his eyes.

“It’s weird to see you with curls again,” Adrian says in way of greeting. Dan laughs, and damn even his laugh sounds different.

~*~

It’s petty, Adrian  _knows_ it’s petty, but he can’t bring himself to care because it’s not fucking fair how Dan has someone who’ll smile at him for no reason and laugh at his stupid jokes and reach over for a moment and squeeze his hand as if it’s second nature. Adrian knows love doesn’t exist, just look at the divorce rates and his parent’s shitty marriage and the way his heart’s been ripped from his chest and stomped on with a pair of knock-off Ralph Lauren heels.

Love doesn’t exist, so it’s annoying how Dan’s pretending it does, which is why Adrian’s conversing in one word sentences and virtually ignoring the two sitting in the front seat.

“So, have you been to London before?”

Master of small talk, this Phil. Maybe he’ll bring up the weather next.

“Last summer,” Adrian tells the window.

“Oh, cool!” Phil replies, voice reaching peak levels of forced enthusiasm; his voice even cracks a bit.

Adrian hums in response.

“What’d you get to do there?” Phil presses on.

“Tour.”

“Did you get to go on the London Eye?”

Damn, is Phil still talking?

“Would’ve been a pretty lame thing to visit,” Adrian says, and he knows he’s being a jerk but god, let a man wallow in peace?

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Phil laughs, “I’m probably one of the only nerds left who love them. When I was little I was obsessed with space, I thought that if I went on a wheel large enough I could touch a star.”

Fuck, that’s adorable. . . Adrian isn’t in the mood to be around adorableness. He doesn’t respond.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you, it’s really been too long,” Phil says, his words coming out more like a question than a statement.

“We’ve met before.”

“Not in person,” Dan amends, “feels a bit different.”

“Well, who’s fault is that?” Adrian spits out. He instantly regrets it because honestly that’s not really a fair thing to say. It’s not entirely Dan’s fault and they all know it.

There’s another uncomfortable silence and this time Adrian, despite his best attempts, actually feels a bit guilty. But come on, he’s talked with Phil loads of times, like. . . like when he taught mum how to use facetime so Phil and Dan could say hi for her birthday. Hell, Adrian even waved when they called. Plus, he always sees him in those photos Dan mails mum and dad when on holiday; Phil’s always in those pictures.

(Adrian feels bad, sometimes, because mum always looks at the photos once before tossing it in the “things to sort later” box, which ironically hasn’t been sorted in years. But hey, at least she keeps them.)

(He also might have done a few google searches on them when he was particularly bored, so Adrian might know a bit more about his brother and Phil than desired.)

The guilty silence eats away at him until Adrian caves and breaks it.

“I mean,” he mumbles, “when I was eleven I  _did_  walk in on you having skype sex with my brother. I think we’re well acquainted.”

Oh shit, where the hell is his filter today?

Phil chokes on his own spit which would be hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that he’s already a precarious driver, and Dan bursts out in a laughter that seems to lighten up the entire car. It’s weird, Dan’s not known for lightening up anything.

“Oh my god,” Dan grimaces, “I totally forgot about that. Didn’t I have to bribe you not to tell our parents?”

“Fifty quid. I think I bought a skateboard with it.”

“Didn’t you break your arm skateboarding?”

“Yeah, so technically I can blame Phil’s penis for spending three months in a cast.”

Dan bursts out in laughter while Phil mumbles an almost inaudible  _fuck me._

They fall into a more comfortable silence now, and after a few minutes Dan turns around and suggests Adrian take the role as the designated DJ, offering up the AUX cord.

It doesn’t take much longer to arrive at the Johnson’s unremarkable brownstone house to pick up his parents from dropping off Collin (because where their family friends are concerned, there are no easier people to guilt-trip into dog-sitting than the Johnsons.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this neighborhood,” Dan says as he takes off his seatbelt, “it’s cute, I look cookie-cutter houses.”

Adrian gives a non-committal hum as Dan and Phil get out of the car, himself opting to just wait inside. He starts to play with the car window, an old-fashion roll-up, when suddenly Adrian takes pause.

He and his parents always refer to the Johnsons as their old family friends, but Adrian just realized Dan’s never actually met them. It really doesn’t matter he supposes, it’s just semantics, just easier to label them as that rather than “friends with most of Howell family.”

Dan’s not a part of a lot of things labeled “family.” Adrian isn’t quite sure what that means.

He registers Dan and Phil’s muffled voices drifting through the crack Adrian left open in the window. He rolls the window down a little bit more because no, he isn’t above eavesdropping, stop judging.

“Awesome, your brother already hates me.”

“That’s not true. Megan doesn’t seem to be coming so they probably broke up today or something. Heartbreak makes people moody.”

Um, okay, he doesn’t appreciate Dan calling him moody.

Adrian can barely see their profiles from where he’s seated, but even so he can see Phil looks skeptical. Dan bumps their shoulders together but pulls back after a moment so their a few inches apart.

“God, my hair looks stupid, doesn’t it?” Phil suddenly asks, panicked, “It does, it does looks stupid, shit I should have just left it as a fringe.” Adrian rolls his eyes because like, what a dumb thing to panic over. Phil’s hair looks just like half the population of younger men; combed smooth and pushed back with gel or something. For some reason, it reminds Adrian of Leo DiCaprio’s hair in The Great Gatsby despite being artificially dyed.

“Your hair looks great, Phil, stop worrying,” Dan says.

“You’re my partner, you have to say that,” Phil mumbles, and—

Hold up,  _partner_?

Dan laughs.

“Yeah, but you made fun of my Yeezy sweater so I’m not obligated to say anything.”

“I thought it’d make me look more son-in-law worthy, you know?” Phil says, ignoring Dan’s remark, “but I’m pretty sure it just makes me look old, which is not something I need to remind your parents about. God, this’s probably worse than the emo hair.”

“You need to stop making a big deal about age thing,” Dan says and wow, talk about topic change.

“Seriously,” Dan continues, “it’s totally normal to have a four—”

“—five—”

“—years apart. It’s nothing, most couples aren’t the same age anyway.”  

“It matters when your son is seventeen,” Phil mumbles, and Adrian’s going to go out on a limb and guess they’ve had conversations like this before.

“Well,” Dan deadpans, “I was conceived when my parents were seventeen; they don’t have room to judge my romantic teenage hijinks.”

Adrian’s impressed by how fast Phil’s expression switches from panicked to confused.

“Wait, how’d I not know that?”

Dan shrugs while Phil counts something on his fingers.

“That would make them forty—…”

“42,” Dan supplies.

Adrian rolls his eyes because they’re actually 43, but whatever Dan’s close enough. Not like he visits for their birthday or anything.

Phil groans.

“My parents are in their 60s.”

“Yet they’re more tech-savvy than mine,” Dan jokes, “no more age talk, it bores me to death; literally at this rate, I’ll die before I turn 26. If anything, you should be wondering just how offendable your northern-roots are.”

Phil looks both skeptical and unamused, but he still drops the subject. He reaches up to touch his hair again.

“Are you sure my hair looks okay?” He asks and fuck, they’re back to talking about hair? Adrian’s getting conversation whiplash over here.

“You want to know the truth?” Dan says with exaggerated seriousness. Phil stills.

“Well, buddy, pally, I hate to break it to you, but…your hair looks sexy pushed back.”

Dan looks proud of his Mean Girls quote; Phil, not so much (although it does seem like he relaxes a bit after that).

Phil checks his phone a few minutes later, and his worried look comes creeping back.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go let them know we’re here? It’s been 10 minutes.”

“Nah,” Dan says, carefully indifferent, “I texted mum, she said they’re almost ready and to wait out here. Damn, I wish I could go say hi to Collin, but I’d feel too awkward.” Adrian rolls his eyes; whenever his brother visits he spends more time with the dog than with people.

Phil nods but otherwise stays silent. He looks so nervous his hands are practically shaking; Adrian didn’t think it was possible, but Phil looks even paler than normal.

Dan notices.

“Hey, I have a game for when we’re driving back. Road trip bingo,” Dan says, probably as an attempt to relax Phil. Phil’s skeptical but doesn’t protest.

“During the ride up, I’m betting my mum will make a negative comment about my old hair, my dad will ask if I’m going to go back to school, one of them will bring up my ex-girlfriend, and my dad will ask you what you do for work even though I tell him all the time.”

They both raise their eyebrows in a perfect mirror of each other…so similar that it’s almost eerie.

“What’s the prize?” Phil asks with a smirk. His eyes melt from panic to something else, something like—

Oh, Adrian’s pretty sure they’re flirting now. Yeah, they’re definitely giving each other  _eyes_  which, eww, talk about something on Adrian’s list of things he never wants to witness. Dan moves even closer to Phil and starts speaking so soft Adrian can just barely hear.

“Well, how ‘bout this,” Dan whispers, “if one of those things happen you get a very high quality hand job tonight.”

Phil and Adrian choke on their spit simultaneously. Dan checks to make sure his parents are still inside before continuing.

“Let’s see, how about if two out of the four happen you’ll win an enthusiastic blowjob, and if three happen you’ll get to upgrade and win the limited-edition shower blowjob.”

Phil’s captivated. Adrian debates whether he should cover his ears. 

“And if all four happen?” Phil asks, breathless.

“Hmm,” Dan all but purrs, “you get to find out what I’m learning in my yoga lessons.”

Okay, Adrian’s officially scarred for life, this is a conversation he can never unhear.

“I like that you’re taking yoga lessons,” Phil mumbles. Adrian’s pretty sure Phil’s brain just short-circuited, because there’s no way anyone can be that ineloquent. Dan runs a finger down Phil’s arm.

“Yeah? Well then, let’s hope Adam and Lydia ask a bunch of condescending questions.”

Phil nods for a moment, but then shakes his head as if shaking himself out of a trance.

“No, no-no, no. As long as your family’s with us we’re a G-rated household,” Phil insists, trying his best to look determined but it doesn’t seem to be working.

He looks unconvinced. Dan looks unconvinced.  

Adrian’s reluctantly unconvinced.

“We’ll see,” Dan smirks, but before Phil can respond there’s a sound of a door opening and they both jump to attention, as if standing for a drill Sargent rather than a middle-aged couple sprouting greying hair and passive stares.

They take a few steps away from the car, which is slightly annoying because now Adrian doesn’t get the pleasure of witnessing the classic  _introducing your boyfriend of 7-plus years to the parents for the first-time_ performance. Darn.

Mum and dad look happy enough, but that’s to be expected. It’s the honored Howell tradition: act pleasant but not excited, polite but not excessively so. Basically, as long as you wear a tight smile and don’t have emotions you’re good.

Adrian’s usually really good at this, which means his current sulking-self feels extra rebellious.

Dan, however, always had a harder time being like their parents—he laughed too loud and cried too much and asked way too many questions about way too many things. That’s how Adrian remembers teenage Dan at least, but from what he’s been able to piece together those things seem to apply to child Dan as well.

Dan’s gotten better over the years it seems, at least when he’s visiting home. Adrian likes to call this new Dan ‘post-Uni-dropout-Dan,’ because post -dropout-Dan learned to wear mum’s tight smile and use dad’s restrained chuckle to compensate with the added parental disappointment levied on him, especially of late seeing how mum and dad have talked and acted increasingly invasive, just on the bridge of insult and, while pre-dropout-Dan might have fought back or yelled or even cried, post-dropout-Dan simply doesn’t react at all. He just wears his tight smile, keeps to surface-level conversation, and asks safe, meaningless questions.

Pre-dropout-Dan sought attention by being loud; post-dropout-Dan seeks approval by being quiet.

From his vantage point in the car, Adrian’s able to see this new Dan as he accepts a quick hug from mum, their arms loose and bodies not quiet touching. Dan keeps his controlled smile when dad pats him on the shoulder and shakes his hand. It’s impossible to figure out what Dan’s thinking, now—unlike before, his eyes are now unreadable.

Phil’s easier to figure out because, despite seeming outwardly calm, his eyes are wide and shoulders tense, thumbs hooked in his pocket in a way that screams ‘nervous tick.’ Even without knowing him Adrian can tell he’s freaking out.

The whole exchange is just awkward, so awkward Adrian’s surprisingly grateful for not being able to hear the exchange. Dad looks the generic kind of pleasant one would see in a stock photo as he smiles at Phil in greeting; but when Phil offers dad a handshake he ignores it, leaving Phil to have his hand awkwardly hovering mid-air for way too long. Adrian doesn’t even know the guy enough to care and even  _he_ is feeling second-hand embarrassment.

Phil keeps standing there, arm outstretched and neither of them do anything because dad’s mildly awkward and Phil’s simply lost, but when all hope seems gone Dan picks up the ball and makes the recovery. He reaches up to “casually” hold Phil’s hand, lowering their hands until their fingers are linked between their bodies. Dan squeezes Phil’s hand for a few seconds; when he lets go Phil’s thumb returns to his pocket.

Phil (over)enthusiastically nods at something mum says. Adrian thinks he hears dad say something about mini-vans but it’s hard to tell when his voice is laced with the laugh he uses when he finds himself amusing. Phil’s face turns red as he forces himself to chuckle. It’s eerie how similar Dan and mum look in this moment, twins in practiced passivity, and their eyes hold the same expressionless chill with their lips press tight together, edges pulled up just enough to feign amusement. Even the way they stand is in sync, both stood up straight with shoulders pushed back; they both have mildly poor posture, but when found in public or in uncomfortable situations they force themselves to stand straight, tall, as if trying to convince themselves they’re comfortable with where they are, what they’re doing. Adrian wonders if maybe they feel weak, maybe that’s why they act like this, but then again Adrian can’t be sure of anything with them when they’re so skilled at hiding themselves.

The four of them seem to have finished with pleasantries, so Dan tilts his head to the side, gesturing towards the van. Adrian quickly looks away and presses his forehead back against the glass, pretending he hasn’t been watching them with rapt attention. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) I'm going to shamelessly self-promo and suggest that, if you're like me and find the holiday season quite rough, I have a fluffy fic here to help you get in the mood for the upcoming tax season (only a few more months till it's here! *insert sarcastic yay*) http://archiveofourown.org/works/10072220
> 
> Anywho, have a swell night!


	4. London, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia makes a humming noise, still looking skeptical. Adrian mimics the noise to mock her, a small part of him looking to pick a fight, still restless from the morning’s heartbreak and despite his best efforts he’s still feeling too many feelings. It sucks, because feelings suck. 
> 
> (Phil, if asked, would disagree. Emotions are wonderful even when they hurt and burn… feelings are how you know you’re alive, they’re what makes life worth living.)
> 
> (Dan, if included in the conversation, would roll his eyes because damn Phil, that sounds like a line straight out of a Katherine Heigl rom-com.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Thanks for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, that’s for real one of the nicest ways to fuel my motivation. Also thanks for the help britpicking, I’m too American to function. I was hoping to get away with using the word “mom” instead of “mum” because I have a weird thing about Chrysanthemums, but alas, these two internet nerds are too British. I went back to past chapters and changed everything to “mum.”
> 
> Also, I have given up all hope for understanding their apartment layout so I just made it all up. I swear, the richer people get the more confusing the interior of their homes become. 
> 
> I don’t think there are any trigger warnings in this chapter, unless you count sock puppets which, in the right environment, can be scary af….

 

He spent his ninth birthday under the overgrown oak tree across from the church.

It’s warm, the kind of rare comfortable warm that comes around early June when the sun hasn’t quite decided it’s summer yet. He’s not sure how much time has passed since he sat down but it must be upwards of an hour. All the people he watched gather in the church for mass are now all spilling out, heading home for dinner or whatever families do after a Saturday night mass. Dan wouldn’t know, he only attends the occasional Sunday morning when his grandmother succeeds in guilt-tripping his parents into joining her.

He’s eight (nine) so he doesn’t understand most of what’s going on during mass, but unlike his parents he still loves being there because the colourful windows are so beautiful and the man up at the alter always says the lamest, funniest jokes. The music’s his favorite part even though the actual songs aren’t very good, but for whatever reason he can’t help but sing, sing along while his voice gets lost in the sea of countless others, the organist (slightly off pitch) leading the way.

His grandmother always wanted him to receive his first communion but his parents disagreed, didn’t want to have to take him to Faith Formation every Wednesday and Sunday.

 He’ll probably have to go through with it now that he’s staying with his grandparents for the foreseeable future.

Dan’s already aware of countless flaws he should be embarrassed of, especially like the way he accidently picks up habits resembling those of a posh woman in her mid-40s. It’s a thing that happens whenever he spends prolonged periods of time with his grandparents, a mortifying habit that will just get worse now that he’s moving in with his grandparents for next three-plus months. This will certainly _not_ help improve the school bullying situation.

On the upside, his grandparents are super adamant that he participates in extracurriculars, so at least he gets to stay in community theater.

Still sat under the tree Dan doesn’t notice he’s lonely until he sees the parish priest start locking up the church, his white clerical collar undone the way dad does with his tie after work.

It’s sudden, the wave of loneliness crashing down around him, instigated by the way the heavy wooden church doors shut, closed for the night with such finality. It’s a different feeling than the perpetual loneliness he knows, the kind that reminds him of the weekends when his parents are too busy to talk and he makes himself a cheese sandwich for lunch. No, it’s more like the heavier loneliness felt when he was the only boy in class not invited to Michael Baker’s birthday party last month, or like dad couldn’t to attend his community theater winter performance.

He should probably be heading home, it’s getting dark and he’s been out a long time, mum might notice he’s missing since surely the baby’s fallen asleep by now. He feels so dumb now because it’s not like his parents _forgot_ his birthday, dad’s been joking for weeks about how Dan’s an old man now that he’s turning nine and mum took him to Argos to a few days ago pick out his birthday present.

She just forgot to give him the gift today.

They’re both busy, dad says they’re stressed from work and the new baby woke with a fever today (Adrian, Dan needs to get over himself and start calling the baby Adrian) so of course his birthday temporarily slipped their minds. It’s just a mistake, they’ll make it up to him.

He’ll have more birthdays.

*~*

Phil shoulders their apartment door closed, mildly impressed with himself when he doesn’t drop the two oversized suitcases in his hands. Turns out Dan has no idea what he’s talking about, Phil’s coordination is on _point_.

He sets the luggage down near the entranceway before joining his (sort of) in-laws gathered in the front lounge, the fancy one they rarely use. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, his entire body buzzing with the sort of energy usually reserved for his AmazingPhil endeavors, pure positivity that usually leaves him exhausted after a few hours.

“So,” Phil smiles, “are y’all ready for the grand tour?”

Adrian, previously devoted to whatever he’s doing on his phone, jerks his head up to look at Phil.

“Y’all?” Adrian repeats, incredulous, “since when is _y’all_ a thing people say?”

Dan laughs. “Phil’s got a weird fascination with Americans, he has culturally appropriated something I never expected to be culturally appropriable.”

“’Appropriable’ isn’t real world, love,” Lydia says. She pats Dan on the shoulder absentmindedly as she looks around her son’s front lounge, face unreadable.

Phil gets the irrational urge to defend Dan’s honor and mention how appropriable is, in fact, a word. It’s vetted by the Oxford-English Dictionary and everything (a fact he knows after looking it up one day when Dan decided to use it in scrabble. You know, because he’s pretentious like that). He refrains from doing so because it probably wouldn’t help his quest to gain his in-laws approval.

Wait, are they considered in-laws if they don’t know they’re technically in-laws? _Note to self: ask Dan if an in-law can be called an in-law if there’s no one around to know they’re in-laws._

“Your place is different than I expected,” Adam notes.

“Well, this is just our formal lounge,” Phil gestures around him, “the one we actually use is downstairs, it’s a lot less stuffy.”

“It’s nice,” Lydia nods, “very clean.”

 _Very clean_ is a rather odd compliment, but whatever, Phil will take whatever he can get. He shows them around this main floor, trying to give interesting commentary as he goes (keyword: _trying_ ). Lydia’s politely complimenting everything in the most generic way possible and Adam silently looking around, his expression so emotionless it’s almost impressive.  

Eventually Phil leads them downstairs to the lounge that they _actually_ use. After taking a few moments to glance around Adrian finally enters the conversation.

“I thought gay millennials were supposed to be fashion and style experts,” Adrian says, “ _Queer Eye_ must have lied.” There’s a hint of boredom in his voice and okay, first of all, _ouch_. He and Dan spent an absurdly long time researching how to decorate the house… seriously, he learned what an accent wall is an everything.  And way to perpetuate stereotypes, totally progressive.

Lydia’s silently chastising her son and Phil doesn’t respond, can’t think of a polite response to that. Instead Phil’s mind wanders to the least significant part of that sentence where Adrian called them millennials… is Phil a millennial? Or is he Gen X? Dan totally explained this to him a few years ago but he’s pretty that happened in the middle of sex, and Phil cannot be counted on to remember any conversations whenever a naked Dan’s involved.

Yeah, they’ve been together since 2009, but naked Dan will never _not_ short circuit his brain.

Shit, now he’s thinking of Dan naked, the number one thing he shouldn’t be doing when stood next to Dan’s parents. Phil’s desperately trying to picture anything else when he’s saved by Dan, who starts showing them his office/filming area.

Adam looks oddly puzzled by it considering the rather minimalistic set-up. “Filming area? Do you film yourself on the computer?”

Lydia sighs. It’s an exasperated sound, something Phil’s noticed she does a lot whenever her husband talks.

“Adam, we’ve seen this set already.”

“What? No I haven’t,” Adam responds, mildly indignant.

 “Yes, your mother sent us that depression video Dan made, remember?”

For the longest five seconds ever Adam keeps looking petulantly confused until Adrian finally glances up from his phone to make like the old Pepsi commercial and #JoinTheConversation.

“I was the one who watched it with you,” Adrian corrects, “Dad was at work or something.”

Lydia makes a humming noise but still looks skeptical. Adrian mimics the noise to mock her, a small part of him looking to pick a fight, still restless from the morning’s heartbreak and despite his best efforts he’s still feeling too many feelings. Which sucks, because feelings suck.

(Phil, if asked, would disagree. Emotions are wonderful even when they hurt and burn… feelings are how you know you’re alive, they’re what makes life worth living.)

(Dan, if included in the conversation, would roll his eyes because damn Phil, that sounds like a line straight out of a Katherine Heigl rom-com.)

(And yes, Dan loves those kind of movies, and yes, 27 Dresses is secretly one of his favorite movies, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Neither Adrian nor Lydia further comment on Dan’s video so an uncomfortable silence falls over the room, the silence so heavy Phil almost chokes on it. Luckily, because Phil totally fell in love with the right person, Dan breaks the silence before Phil can melt into a grey puddle of pure anxiety and the half bag of marshmallows he stress ate this morning.

Grasping for something to share with his dad, Dan walks Adam through the different parts of his filming process, even showing him the studio-grade camera and lighting equipment still out from a few days ago when Dan filmed a yet-to-be-edited video. Adam used to work on film sets so maybe this will peak his interest, make Dan’s career sound more legitimate or something. You know, be a father/son bonding thing. 

Or he might think it all to be elementary. One of the two.

*~*

Phil’s still stuck thinking about that conversation—or more specifically, the revelation that Dan’s family don’t know anything about Dan’s career—long after they finish touring the apartment. He can’t stop thinking about how weird it is, how inexplicably uncomfortable knowing how Dan parents don’t watch his videos. Dan’s mentioned this fact offhand a few times but Phil thought he was exaggerating. Or maybe his parents watched them but didn’t comment on it… something.

Dan’s one of the most successful and long-lasting internet celebrities, how could they not be interested in knowing about? Wouldn’t his parents at least be curious to know what he’s up to? Especially considering how everything Dan creates is so personal it’s odd to think they wouldn’t be a little curious to learn these things about their son. 

It’s difficult for Phil to understand, a difficulty amplified by the way Phil’s family has the exact opposite reaction. His family—including a large portion extended family—always listened to the radio show and watch all his videos, even those on the gaming channel which, let’s be real, is _not_ geared towards their demographic.

Granted, his father was a bit less accepting of his career, at least at first, mostly because he always had trouble understanding his son in general. But still he supported him, supported him even when he only had a handful of subscribers and a camera, helped him when Phil took the yet unheard of leap to make YouTube his career.

Meanwhile, In contrast to Phil’s rather intense inner turmoil, Dan’s unaffected.  He’s long since stopped caring about his parents’ disinterest in his career and in a way he’s now sort of glad they don’t watch his stuff. It’d be mortifying to think of his parents watching his videos when they feature blatantly sexual jokes and a dark, off-beat humour. The stress would be ridiculous if he knew they watched his content, considering how he harbors an unhealthy urge for their validation.

It’s bad enough his grandmother keeps up with his content, but at least she’s always been able to understand his sense of humour. His grandma’s almost as bad as Phil in that way; Dan could make a video featuring only sock puppets and she would gush about how brilliant he is and how proud she feels—his grandmother makes up a good fourth of Dan’s self-esteem.

Hold up… talking sock puppets is an awesome idea! He’s been wanting to try more experimental trash and this sounds way easier than the stop-motion or claymation projects he was considering. _Move over Jack Howard, “real serious filmmaker” Danny Boi is the new pretentious voice in town._

(Later that night Dan tells Phil about his life-changing sock puppet epiphany. Phil lasts a whole ten seconds before bursting out laughing. Dan’s unamused.)

(Three months later Dan uploads a five-part series portraying a sock puppet rendition of Hamlet. Phil ends up voicing half the characters despite his wishes to the contrary; his moving performance as sock puppet Hamlet might just be his _magnum opus_.  In an unexpected turn of events the series becomes some of Dan’s most watched videos, partly because countless English Literature teachers catch wind and shows them in their classes. Dan and Phil have no idea _why_ anyone would consider their arts and crafts Shakespeare shitpost to be a teaching aid but they don't question it since the extra adsense will pay for another holiday to Japan.)

*~*

They have a few hours before meeting with Phil’s brother and his girlfriend for dinner, so they’ve got time to kill. Dan’s parents decline Phil’s suggestion to tour London, disinterested mostly due to their recent visit to London and compounded by their general distaste for large cities.  

Consequentially, Phil’s worst fear has now come to life, the fear of having guests over without some activity to entertain.  He’s a jumble of nerves by this point but ultimately stays functional thanks to Dan, once again saving the day by dispelling a heavy silence. Phil’s not used to awkward silences but he’s pretty sure it’s the work of the devil.

Huh, turns out he’s not an atheist, the sheer torture of an awkward silence is unequivocal proof the devil exists.

Dan suggests they play Scrabble because it’s apparently a thing they all like to do, so they all end up back up two flights of stairs to the gaming room.

Dan made sure to gloss past the gaming room when showing his parents around the house, so when they step inside a wave of mild intrigued confusion (apparently that’s an emotion now) washes over Adam and Lydia’s faces. Their reactions makes sense, Phil realizes, because from an outsider’s perspective their gaming room is pretty weird. Their desk is crowded to accommodate two people and a ridiculous amount of tech, a softbox pressed against the wall and a skinny stand behind the desk for their filming equipment.

“You film yourself here, too?” Adam asks as he takes a closer look at their filming setup. Dan’s searching for the board game in a strategic attempt to avoid the question so it’s Phil who’s stuck trying to figure out how to explain a gaming channel to someone who never goes online.

“We started a new channel a few years ago,” Phil stutters out, “a gaming channel where we film ourselves playing different video games for people to watch. We mostly play short PC flashgames instead of playing through an entire videogame.”

Phil waits a few beats and then shrugs. “People seem to like it.” 

Lydia responds with her signature _hmm_ and Adam nods, still examining their set-up. Adrian’s off in his own little world, reminding Phil of how Dan was like when they first met, back before Dan dropped out of Uni.

“People watch you play video games,” Adam says, voice flat, “and they find that _interesting_?”

Phil nods, unsurprised by Adam’s reaction. It’s a pretty common reaction in all honesty.

“Gaming videos are very popular.”

“Why?” Adam asks, disbelieving, as if Phil had told him instead about the popularity of farting videos.

(The surplus of YouTube farting videos are an actual thing, by the way. Don’t google that, it scarred him for life.)

Phil searches for an answer but comes up short, high-stress improvisation never quite being his strong suite. Dan finally finds the board game and stands up, so Phil widens his eyes and shoots Dan a half-quirked smile in a silent command to _please help me_.

Dan responds with a fond eyeroll to inform Phil he’s _so pushy, take a breather._ He does what Phil asked of him anyway.

“It’s become one of the most popular genres, actually. I’ve always compared it to how people watch sports and listen to television commentary. Sometimes it’s fun to watch other people play something you find interesting, even if you don’t necessarily want to play yourself.” Dan shrugs at the end, pretending to be blasé, playing off the innate sense of pride for what their gaming channel has become.

Phil’s legit impressed with Dan’s analogy… who thought _Dan_ could explain something through sports?

Dan’s parents seem to accept that answer which is promising, although Adam still looks mildly skeptical. Before they could say anything Adrian speaks up, standing in the far corner next to their bookshelf.

“What’s this?” Adrian asks, pointing to the silver YouTube play button.

“Oh god,” Dan involuntarily mumbles while at the same time Phil releases a short burst of laughter so sudden he startles himself.

Phil forces himself to calm down enough to answer seeing how Dan is literally facepalming.

“YouTube sends out different awards when you hit certain subscriber milestones. We’ve got a couple for over one million subscribers for all the other channels; however,” Phil struggles to hold in a giggle, “that’s our most cherished award. It’s for getting over a hundred thousand subscribers on a channel we made called DanAndPhilCRAFTS.”

“It’s something we made as an April Fool’s joke a few years ago,” Dan interrupts, “it’s a very unhelpful, disturbing crafting tutorial using a potato-quality camera and editing reminiscent of some old-school early 2000s software.”

“We ended up making a trilogy,” Phil adds, “where the videos got… odder each year.”

Adrian raises his eyebrows, “and a hundred thousand people subscribed?”

“Over 800K last time I checked,” Phil says, smiling because damn, their subscribers are so _weird_.

Lydia makes a weird choking sound, “and you only posted three videos?”

“We filmed and edited them at like, 3am every year, so I mean it when I say they’re very… unique videos,” Dan explains, unable to find the right word to describe their crafting videos without sounding like he’s lost his mind.

“I need to see this,” Lydia exclaims, startling everyone else in the room. Dan doesn’t move to do anything so she points at the desktop next to Adam.

“Do you have it on this computer?”

Phil finds it strangely endearing how she doesn’t fully understand how video streaming works.

Dan responds with a very eloquent _Umm_ , looking to Phil to deal with all this.

“It’s a pretty small monitor, it’d probably be better if we went down to the lounge and play it on the TV.”

Everyone seems fine with that except Dan, who’s frown screams at Phil _Why!?_

They end up down to their actual lounge, the one where Dan and Phil spend the majority of their waking time in. There’s easily enough space to seats all of them spread out, yet Dan plops down right next to Phil so the entire length of their sides are pressed together. He’s tense, Phil realizes. His entire body is still and his hands are gripping the edges of the seat cushions tight enough for his knuckles to turn white and okay, it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out Dan’s scared. It’s one thing for someone to watch his videos, it’s a completely different thing to be in the same room, privy to every one of their reactions.

His desperate want for his parents’ approval doesn’t help the situation.

Once Phil pulls up _Squareflakes_ he reaches down to run his thumb over Dan’s left hand, a simple action that helps Dan relax, if only a little.

It’s been a while since Phil’s rewatched this video, but it doesn’t take long to realize it’s a lot more ridiculous than he remembers. And slightly unsettling, they really went to town on the editing.  

Phil keeps glancing at the others in his peripherals, relived that everyone’s seemingly enjoying themselves. Lydia giggles multiple times, which prompts Phil to reevaluate his first impression of her. Adrian legitimately _snorts_ when it zooms-in on Dan’s eyes at the end of the video.  

Dan must have had the same idea as Phil because he’s slowly relaxing, now mostly convinced his parents aren’t going to abruptly leave after declaring him an incompetent disappointment. When the video ends Adrian asks to watch the next one, and it goes over even better than the first—Lydia went so far as to clap at the end. It was Adam, surprisingly, who requested they watch the third.

To this day Phil still can’t believe they got away with making a video about them summoning Satan with a potato. How is it an actual thing that exists in this world?

God’s greatest mysteries.

When the video concludes Phil can’t help but laugh at each of their expressions. Their final reactions are as follows:

Adam’s frozen in place, unsure of what he just watched.

Adrian’s still staring at the screen with a disbelieving smile, expression locked in a precarious mixture of shock and amusement.

Lydia’s doubled over, smiling through a coughing fit induced by her constant laughter during the entire second half of the video. Phil goes to grab her a glass of water, now understanding where Dan gets his morbid sense of humour.

Dan looks around the room. He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I posted the prequel to this fic over here if you want to read it (there's no spoilers).
> 
>  
> 
> [phil’s over-tired and a little bit wine drunk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368582)


	5. London, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian brings in a few extra chairs when the dinner is almost ready, and when Dan looks over his eyes linger on the dinner table, seven chairs squeezed together around the circular table that really was made for five. It’ll work, this table, and maybe this won’t be the last time they’re all seating around it. Maybe he’ll buy a bigger table when he and Phil move next year, a table with enough room for their family to grow, keep growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a fluffy filler chapter (the first part is even a flash back type thing because I get side-tracked too easily) so sorry in advance, but I realized while writing that the next part is turning out to be super plot-filled and a return to angst so I'm going to keep that all together. 
> 
> Also, THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and kudos. I'm an overly nervous person so I'm sorry for not responding to any of them, but just know that I appreciate y'all (I know it's weird, but I sometimes screenshot your comments and keep them in a folder in my phone...)

Manchester’s a lot colder than Dan has imagined during his 18 years on this earth, but he doesn’t even register the chill now that he has time to look at Phil without the barrier of a computer screen. It’s overwhelming now after all these months finally sharing the same air as Phil, finally in the same city, in the same _room._

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway (long enough for the two cups of tea he’s been holding to grow cold, that’s for sure). Phil’s already in bed, covers pulled up to his chin even though it’s warm and Dan can see Phil still awake by the way he’s slowly running his fingers along Dan’s pillow, but his eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted, just on the verge of falling asleep and Dan’s pretty sure his heart can’t take this.

“Are you going to come over here or are you going to keep staring at me like we’re in some creepy vampire movie?” Phil mumbles and Dan startles, embarrassed now that he knows Phil could tell he was just standing there for who knows how long.

“I was spaced out, sorry love,” Dan apologizes, but Phil just rolls his eyes and sits up, blinking for a moment before a smile spreads across his face (Dan’s favorite smile, the one Phil reserves just for him, the smile wide enough that Phil has to mostly close his eyes, lolling his head to the side in a lazy little swing and Phil never looks as vulnerable as he does when he smiles like this, never looks as open and welcoming and trusting. And maybe that’s why Dan loves this smile so much, maybe it’s because no one’s ever trusted him with something so precious as this smile).

Dan climbs onto the bed and shuffles up carefully not to spill the tea, settling once he’s sitting on Phil’s thighs, close enough their chests are almost touching and Dan tries not to blush because Phil’s not wearing a shirt (or pants from what Dan can tell) and even after all this time Dan sometimes gets these little bouts of embarrassment because… well, how is this his life?

Phil takes one of the cups (the green one with the alligator on the front from when his family last went to Florida. Dan’s cup is blue with a little bear on it, something Phil bought just for Dan, something to wait for him whenever he visits) and cradles it in his palms, hands completely enveloping it when he takes a sip.

“I think you’ve finally got my order down,” Phil whispers into his cup and Dan rolls his eyes before taking a drink of his own, because sure this is the first time they’ve met in person but he’s known how to make Phil’s tea for a while. They drink in silence after that, a comfortable silence one can only get when they’ve met someone they really love, someone they know well enough that they can speak just by giving each other quick glances and tiny quirks of their mouths.

Dan loves this silence. He never knew he could love the silence, not when he’s spent so much of his life trapped in it.

Phil finishes first (finishes first because he just likes to drink to get it over with, while Dan likes to take his time, small sips with enough time in between just to savor the taste, roll it around on his tongue to pick out each individual flavour) and when Phil sets his glass on the bedside table he’s carful not to jostle Dan off his lap. Phil leans back so he’s slumped against the headboard and takes a moment to look, _really look_ at Dan now that they’re alone here in the quiet. Phil decides it’s imperative to drink in Dan with more than just his eyes, he needs to look at him with his hands, so he slowly trails a finger over Dan’s nose, thumb brushing against his cheekbones. Dan’s cheeks are pink and his breath quickening and Phil knows it’s too soon but he can’t help but think he’s in love.

“You’re so weird, Phil, what’re you doing?” Dan’s speaking into his mug and Phil just shrugs, smiling in a way that it reaches his eyes, a wave of content settling in his spine, and he sits back up until their chests are flush against each other, Dan’s cup stuck between them. Phil moves his hands down until they’re trailing down Dan’s back, moving up and down until they’re settling around his waist, thumbs pressing against the dimples in his lower back.

“You’re so perfect. Everything, these little dimples at your waist, these scattered freckles on your shoulders,” Phil punctuates it by kissing Dan, brushing his shirt to the side with his nose so he can kiss the soft skin of his shoulder. “the little crinkles by your eyes that only come out when you smile.” Dan’s head has drifted down at one point or another until his face is buried in Phil’s neck, and Phil speaking against his cheek (and Dan’s not sure what he’s listening to, Phil’s voice or the way his lips brush against his cheek to form his words, his beautiful words).

“Phil, stop being wonderful,” Dan mumbles, and Phil quietly laughs against Dan’s cheek, slowly brushing his lips up until he’s lightly kissing Dan’s hair, reaching in between their bodies to pull out the cup (still half full, although now gone cold) and set it next to Phil’s on the nightstand so the two handles are resting against each other in a kiss.

“I know, I’m awesome,” Phil says and Dan gives him a half-assed slap on the arm but he’s too tired to say much else, “let’s go to bed. Get under the covers, I’m cold.”

Dan lethargically leans back and crawls under the covers, lying mostly on top of Phil like the human octopus he is, their chests resting against each other and yup, Dan never wants to sleep anywhere else as long as he lives.

“What?” Phil mumbles without opening his eyes, simply sensing Dan’s mind is racing, figuring out how to say what he wants to say. It’s amazing how Phil can read him better than anyone ever has, knows more about him than Dan’s whole family combined. He’s been with Phil for only a day yet it might as well have been a lifetime. He’s amazing, he’s perfect, Dan wants to scream it from the rooftops, ignore all the repercussions Dan would face if his family found out he wasn’t actually sleeping over at his friend Jordan’s this weekend (well, acquaintance, but his parents don’t need to know that).

“You’re perfect too.” Dan whispers into Phil’s skin, biting his lower lip as he once again wonders how he could have gotten so lucky.

“Thank you,” Phil murmurs, already mostly asleep, one hand lazily reaching up to grab onto Dan’s and slotting their fingers together like they’re made for each other (and of course they fit perfectly together).

~*~

Ever since they met Dan and Phil have come to cooked dinner the same way they do everything else—together.

It’s a tried and true method they’ve decided, and over the years preparing dinner together has become something of a comfort, a perfect way to press pause, to just spend time together and talk about stupid shit they’ve seen on reddit or whatever weird conspiracy theory their subscribers have brewed up that day (the “Phil’s-Secret-Wife-Janice” theory will always and forever be Dan’s favorite. Phil, meanwhile, is rather partial to the “Phil hired Dan to be his friend to hide the fact that he’s an alien” conspiracy. It’s a classic after all.)

They seamlessly fit together when they’re in the kitchen, moving around each other like a dance they never needed to rehearse, and their qualities perfectly complement each other.  He only needs to prepare a meal once in order for Dan to memorize a recipe, and he can prep virtually any raw ingredient twice as fast as Phil can, whether it be peeling potatoes or chopping lettuce or dicing tomatoes. He can follow a recipe exactly as specified, but Phil is the one who can transform the paint-by-numbers creation and make it their own. He instinctively knows when to add more spices or leave out the almond slivers, and Phil can tell with just a glance if something needs to simmer longer than specified or be taken out of the oven early. Compared to all that, Dan just can’t compete.

About a year after arriving in London Dan came to the realization that the way they are in the kitchen is a perfect metaphor for their relationship—Dan tending to the base functions of their relationship while Phil brings it to life.

Dan’s grown used to this rapport, this synergy they have in the kitchen, so it’s a bit jarring when he finds himself fumbling to prepare dinner with his mum by his side in place of Phil.

Martyn and Cornelia arrived sometime around 7pm and honestly Dan’s impressed with how at ease they seemed when introducing themselves to Dan’s family… Adam and Lydia don’t come off as exactly the warmest of people, yet by the time they get settled into the upstairs lounge Martyn’s already engaged in an enthusiast conversation about their mutual love of Christopher Nolan movies.

Dan meets Phil’s eyes and pointedly looks towards one of their couches, a silent command to _stay here and suffer through 45 minutes of small talk while I hide in the kitchen cooking dinner_ , but before he could make a silent retreat Lydia notices and volunteers to help.

“I was thinking of making Pad Thai,” Dan tells her, already grabbing the ingredients from the refrigerator.

“That’s a nice idea, it’s something Adrian would have no problem eating.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, “it’s easy to make half vegan and half suitable for carnivores.”    

Lydia hums in agreement but otherwise remains silent, a silence reminding Dan that this is the first time in over a year that he’s been in the same room alone with his mum. He doesn’t know if that’s even noteworthy, but for some reason it makes him nervous nonetheless.

They don’t talk except when Dan’s telling her the next step of the recipe, and he only lasts about 15 minutes before the heavy silence is all but suffocating him.

Lydia accidently bumps into the portable Bluetooth speakers when reaching for a fresh knife and Dan suddenly remembers how his mother always plays music when cooking for a dinner party or a holiday meal. She would play classical music when in the kitchen despite usually being a fan of house music and new-age electronic. Lydia would hum along, sometimes, when it was just her and Dan in the kitchen, the rest of the relatives crowded together in the other room. When Dan was really little he would sometimes wave his hands in the air as if he was the conductor and his mother would laugh and join in for a moment, giggling before reaching down to muss up his hair and shoo him off to set the table.

He thanks the god he’s not sure he believes in for the power of music to cure this silence while he scrolls through his phone for something to play, settling on his favorite rendition of Bach Cello Suites.  It only takes a moment before Lydia’s looking up with an approving smile.

“Yo-Yo Ma, right?”

Dan nods.

“I used to love listening to him, I wore out that one CD I had of his… oh, which one was it?” Lydia shuts her eyes in concentration, “was it—”

“ _Shostakovich and Kabalevsky_ ,” Dan blurts out, instantly blushing from his outburst. He shrugs, trying to downplay how quickly he was able to answer the question. “It was the, uh, Cello Concertos.”

“That’s right,” Lydia responds, her dark eyes meeting Dan’s for a moment before drifting away to look at nothing, to look at something happening some other time, some other place.

“I used to play it every Christmas. It would bug your father, he finds classical music so boring,” Lydia laughs, soft and airy, “he was the one who gave it to me as a birthday gift, ironically.”

Dan matches her smile.

“Phil’s the same way, yet for our one-year anniversary he took me to London to see the New York Philharmonic when they were touring. Yo-Yo Ma was a part of the string quartet with… damn, I can’t remember who else.” Dan shuts his mouth before he gets any more ramble-y, but he’s surprised to see Lydia actually looking at him intently, as if she’s actually… interested?

“I would kill to have seen that,” Lydia says, “we went to Chelsea a few years ago to see the Royal Philharmonic but, and I feel like I’m betraying England by saying this, I’d much see those ridiculous Americans if given the choice.”

Dan smiles, “yeah, the colonies have got a few things right.”

Lydia fails to hold back a laugh, and soon they’re erupting in laughter together, quiet, as if sharing a secret.

They don’t talk that much after that but the silence is infinitely more comfortable, a soft presence mixing with the music softly echoing around them.

Adrian brings in a few extra chairs when the dinner is almost ready, and when Dan looks over his eyes linger on the dinner table, seven chairs squeezed together around the circular table that really was made for five. It’ll work, this table, and maybe this won’t be the last time they’re all seating around it. Maybe he’ll buy a bigger table when he and Phil move next year, a table with enough room for their family to grow, keep growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happen to have a preference, would you rather I post shorter chapters (like between 2.5 to 4.5k words) more frequently like what I did here, or should I take a bit more time and release ~7k word chapters like what I was originally going to do for this chapter? I'm ultimately going to just cut it off whenever there's a natural stopping point, but when I look at my outline I can tell that both these scenarios are applicable. I never write chapter fics so I'm unsure which way to go.


	6. London, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remember what was happening at the time, how we all... how we were. Adam can have a very selective memory when he wants to but I can’t do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I've brought some angst back into the mix. 
> 
> Slight tw in the endnotes.

“And since our cousin was prepping for her new bartending gig she was shoving cocktails down our throats all night, which means it didn’t take long until Danny boy’s three sheets to the wind and the newly crowned life of the party—”

“ _Martyn,_ honestly…”

“—and I was legit so relieved Dan was finally loosening up, you know? Because until then I only knew him to be reserved and overly polite which, knowing how loud and borderline obnoxious the Lester clan can get, I was certain we were on the brink of scaring Dan away.  And that would have been quite a shame, because Phil had been waxing poetic about Dan for months and I don’t think he had ever been so sweet on someone before—”

“Seriously Martyn _,_ this isn’t…”

“Relax, baby bro, all I’m saying is that I was excited when I realized our crazy family wasn’t going to chase Dan off. I mean, he _is_ one of the few humans actually able to put up with you for a prolonged period of time—”

“My god…”

“I’m kidding! But for real, Dan is one strong individual. Not many people can weather meeting all 30-something members of our family at once, especially on Christmas.”

“We do take Christmas very seriously.”

“ _Exactly…_ which before I forget, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, my mum’s wondering about organizing a joint Lester-Howell Christmas party next year—don’t worry about deciding anything now! She just wants me to throw the idea out there since Phil’s likely to forget…he has the memory of a toaster mind you.”

“Hey!”

“It’s okay, Phil, you have a lot of other positive qualities. But back to the story… where was I? It was the first time Phil had introduced anyone to Dan, and… well whatever, the moral of the story is that your son has the heart of a saint; not only did he endure an entire weekend surrounded by countless loud northerners lush off eggnog and pretentious cocktails, he was also able to win over our grandfather, someone pathologically incapable of saying anything nice unless it had to do with birdwatching or things that happened before 1954. I’m serious! Cornelia never got to opportunity to meet him before he passed, but Phil can confirm that our grandfather was actually _disappointed_ when Dan couldn’t come to the next holiday party.”

Martyn finally breaks from his monologue to take a breath, hoping to whatever god is out there that someone ( _anyone_ ) will take over the conversation.

“I was sporting a passing interest in birdwatching at the time,” Dan shrugs, “so I think he was just excited to have someone to talk to about it.”

Mr. Howell (Adam? He never introduced himself) clears his throat.

“You don’t come across like the birdwatching type,” he says, lazily pointing his fork at his eldest son.

“I’m not really, I just saw this really cool rare bird—a spotted flycatcher—and I got interested.  Nothing came from it though, you don’t really see many rare birds when living in a big city,” Dan admits.

“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Howell says, placid. Dan hums in reply and allows the table to fall silent.

The silence eats away at Martyn even though in reality it only lasts for a few heartbeats (a few painful heartbeats). While Martyn might be the one endowed with the extroverted characteristic, both Lester siblings suffer from the same social anxiety endowing them with an overwhelming pressure to keep everyone comfortable and entertained; thus, it’s no surprise that Martyn’s been on edge ever since he arrived.  The way the Howells seem to be perfectly fine eating in silence is unnerving, and guessing from the way Phil’s leg bouncing under the table his brother must be having similar thoughts.

“So, Cornelia, what do you do for a living?” Mrs. Howell (Lydia? Is that what Dan called her?) asks.

“I work with all these guys, if you can believe it,” Cornelia gestures towards Martyn, Phil, and Dan, “I’m head of merchandising for the merch company these three mad lads founded. It’s been over three years now I think.”

Dan’s father looks up with a newly sparked interest.

“What’s this now?” he asks, “I didn’t know you own a company.”

Dan nods. When he shows no signs of elaborating Martyn reinserts himself into the conversation.

“Dan and Phil’s merch is unbelievably popular, so we started an independently operated company to manage everything. A few years ago we expanded and now manage merch stores for a couple other YouTubers. It’s been working out so far.”

“What did you say you sell?” Adam asks.   

“T-shirts, sweatshirts, hats, those kinds of things,” Martyn supplies, trying not to seem too confused because does he really not know what Dan’s merch looks like?

“The calendars are always my favorite,” Cornelia helpfully adds, because she’s awesome. Martyn squeezes her hand under the table.

“People buy calendars of you?” Adam asks, skeptical.

“They’re always a huge hit, we sold around 50 thousand this year, right?” Cornelia briefly looks at Martyn for confirmation, “they had a big photoshoot with a bunch of puppies for the most recent one, it was adorable.”

“Odd thing for people to buy,” Adam replies. Martyn’s taken aback by how dismissive he sounds, leaving him unsure of what to say. Thankfully a new voice chimes in to respond.

“You bought a Make-Your-Own-Hot-Sause kit last month and you don’t even like spicy food. I think it’s safe to say people spend their money in interesting ways,” Adrian comments, deadpan.

Martyn had almost forgot Dan’s brother was even there, he had been silent up until then.   

“You’re quite right,” Lydia cracks a smile, breaking the tension that had unknowingly built up.

“So,” Dan says, desperate to change topics, “Phil and I were trying to figure out something for us all to do tomorrow since the show isn’t until the evening, and one idea was to pretend to be obnoxiously posh and go have an afternoon tea. There’s this great place we always take people when they visit from out of town, it has this skyline view of London that’s just amazing, Grandma and Grandad insist we take them every time they visit.”

There’s a heavy pause after Lydia clears her throat, her eyebrows furrowed as if she’s struggling to decide on what to say.

“Grandma and Grandad have visited?” she finally asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah. You know Grandma, she’ll take any excuse to take a holiday,” Dan awkwardly chuckles. Lydia hums in reply, her lips pressed together as if she’s struggling not to say something else.

“That sounds fine, we’re up for whatever,” Adam shrugs.

There’s another minute or so of awkward silence before Lydia reemerges from whatever thought she was momentarily lost in. She focuses her attention on Cornelia and Martyn this time, smile wide with a sudden bout of manufactured levity.

“So how long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Almost six years now,” Cornelia answers, smiling as she reaches over to hold Martyn’s hand. Martyn grins back because how can he not? Her smiles are contagious.

“That’s a long time,” Lydia replies. Martyn laughs.

“Yeah, and my mum agrees if her unsubtle marriage hints are any indication.”

“Is that so?” Lydia asks. Her smile finally settles into something warmer, fonder.

“Very much so,” Martyn sighs, a mixture of fond and exasperated (such a perfect description of his own mum), “she’s desperate for a wedding and I’m her last hope. To be honest, I don’t think she’s forgiven Phil for denying her a proper ceremony… apparently a Register Office isn’t her dream venue.”

Martyn stops to take a drink from his mostly-forgotten beer. When he looks back up he’s startled by how still the room suddenly became.

Phil has been perfectly content to sit back and silently observe, but now he’s looking at Martyn with wide eyes and mouth in a frozen O-shape. Dan’s in a similar state of paralysis, except his eyes are instead glazed over and unfocused.

Martyn’s shocked how much Dan looks like his mother in this moment—their lips are both pressed so tightly together the skin around them is turning white and they’re both now sat up ramrod straight, so stiff it’s noticeably uncomfortable.  Lydia’s likewise not looking at much of anything, her eyes unfocused. Adam, meanwhile, is staring intensely at his eldest son.

It’s as if time is frozen and oh fuck Martyn definitely has said something wrong, the last time he saw Phil look so scared was when Mum had that cancer scare last year (well, and when they watched _Inside_ last week, but French new-wave horror movies shouldn’t count). Martyn doesn’t know how to fix any of this (and seriously, why wouldn’t Phil fill him in on how Dan’s family doesn’t know they got hitched a billion years ago? Seems like pertinent information).

Suddenly there’s a sharp burst of laughter from across the table, startling everyone out of their frozen state.

“Oh my god, that’s so fucking fresh,” Adrian howls, shaking his head at the sight.

Adrian’s laughter turns into a sort of manic chuckle filled with an emotion Martyn can’t quite decipher but he’d bet his left testicle it’s not amusement. Hell, if he knew any better he’d think Adrian almost sounds _hurt_.

Adrian turns to address Dan.

“You know, Mum mentioned a few days ago how you’ve been so open recently. She was even really excited about it. Turns out you still have a few secrets up your sleeves. But whatever, it’s not like marriage is that big of a deal or anything, no reason to share that little tidbit with your family.”

Adrian tears his eyes away from his brother and starts stabbing at the remaining food on his plate. Dan opens his mouth as if to reply but only manages to release a strangled “um.”

“We’re not actually married,” Phil blurts out, voice noticeably higher than usual. Dan shuts his mouth and frantically nods. Phil catches Dan’s eye and Martyn can’t help but watch the way they stare at each other as if they’re holding a conversation just with their eyes. 

Phil and Dan are captivated with each other, silent until Adam’s deep, dry voice drags them back into the real world.

“So, if you’re not married what would you celebrate at a Register Office, filing someone’s death certificate?”

“No,” Dan says, and he’s already starting to talk too fast, “it’s just like, we didn’t even have an option of getting married, you know? Politicians were still trying to decide if we should have equal rights or not since they were all terrified of that fabled, sinister Gay Agenda or whatever—”

“A civil partnership,” Phil answers, cutting off Dan’s babbling.

Adam leans forward with elbows on the table, eyes still fixed solely on Dan.

“Quite a big secret to keep for over half a decade.”

“I didn’t mean to go so long without telling you, honestly,” Dan replies, a hint of desperation in his voice, “it wasn’t—isn’t—a big deal or anything. We just thought it could be a nice idea since everything was so crazy at the time, so we got the idea that doing something like this would be a good way to put everything into perspective, if that makes sense?”

“No, it doesn’t make sense actually,” Adrian says, rolling his eyes when Lydia shoots him a disapproving frown. Martyn’s certain Adrian’s just trying to be contrary, but Dan still takes it to heart.

“Well,” Dan rambles, “everything was so… uncertain at the time. Our career prospects were risky, YouTube wasn’t even considered an actual career yet, and if this didn’t work out I had no degree and no fallback plan. And we had no idea if our radio show would work out, and we were moving to London with almost nothing in our bank account, and—”

“And,” Phil interjects, unexpectedly calm, “there was a chance we were setting ourselves up for failure. But we realized that despite how unsure we were about everything else, there’s no doubt we’re doing this all together.  Getting a piece of government-issued paper as proof of that seemed like it could be a nice way to show that, so we thought… ‘why not?’”  

“Why not,” Lydia repeats. She sounds as if she’s trying to decipher a riddle.

There’s another round of heavy silence. Martyn desperately avoids eye-contact with anyone, so when he starts staring at the table cloth he notices how Phil calms Dan’s fidgeting by simply resting a hand on Dan’s knee.

Meanwhile Cornelia, silent through the whole exchange, erupts in a soft burst of laughter. She addresses Lydia and Adam with a smile and a fond eyeroll.

“I can’t even with these boys… they told me they entered a domestic partnership for the tax breaks.”

 

~*~

 

Long after everyone else has retired for the night Dan finds himself wandering through the flat, careful not to make too much noise. 

He can tell it's going to be one of those nights that he spends lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, mind whirling with thoughtless anxiety. Usually he can deal with insomnia just fine, but now he needs all the energy he can get considering he has a whole other day with his family. Dan’s desperate enough he even took Klonopin despite how much he hates it, yet so far it’s only made him more lethargic while doing very little to quiet his head.

Dan almost overlooks a flicker of light coming from the balcony, but when he sees it again he decides to go investigate further. It’s not like he has anything else to do.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t think it would his mother out here, elbows resting on the iron rail with a cigarette in hand. Dan considers going back inside but decides against it since his mother has probably already noticed he’s there. 

Dan slides the door shut quietly behind him and when he turns back around he’s sees his mother watching him over her shoulder.

Dan joins her at the edge of the balcony, leaving about half a foot between them. They stand next to each other in silence for a while, both looking down at the street fifteen stories below. It’s late at night (early morning technically) but there are still a number of people wandering around, teens indulging in their youth, university students celebrating the weekend.

“I thought you quit smoking?” Dan asks a few minutes later, still watching the people wandering the streets below.

“I did… as far as your father and brother are concerned.”

There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, and when Dan looks up he’s correct in assuming she’ll have her lips quirked in a half smile.

“My goodness Lydia, what a scandal!” Dan dramatically gasps and presses one hand over his heart.

“Scandals make life interesting,” Lydia states unabashed.

“Wait, but wouldn’t they smell it?”

“Not when I implement my three-part method. It’s pretty elaborate,” she stage-whispers, leaning in as if to share an important secret. 

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“First, only smoke outside facing away from the wind with your hair pulled back while holding the cigarette far away from your body.”

“Doesn’t sound too elaborate to me.”

“Patience, young one,” Lydia smiles, “we haven’t talked fashion yet.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

“You have to be very fashion forward to be a secret smoker. I always wear an extra layer, preferably baggy, over my clothes so I don’t need to worry about my whole outfit smelling. It needs to be washed within a day or two, but everything else should be fine.”

“Now that’s smart,” Dan says, “as long as no one decides to sniff the shirt.”

“That’s one of the rare perks to always having to do your father’s laundry, he won’t go near the laundry.”

Dan hides a laugh behind his hand.

Lydia forces back her smile and tries to sound as if she’s about to tell Dan the meaning of life.

“Remember, the final step’s the most important.”

“Naturally.”

“Yes, so listen closely. It’s important that you...”

“Have a glass of milk?”

“Close. You have brush your teeth to shower.”

“That’s a good life lesson in any context,” Dan points out.

“Well, in this case you also have to use strongly scented body wash and shampoo.”

“Is there any other way to shower?”

“Good point,” Lydia agrees. They’re silent for a few moments before Lydia turns to point at Dan as if she just remembered something important.

“This is all hypothetical, mind you. As far as Adrian and Dad know I quit eight years ago.”

Dan lifts both his hands so they’re level with his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything.”

Lydia nods and goes back to watching the street below, now occupied with far less people.  

“I’m not worried,” she says, her voice quieter than before, “I know you can keep a secret.” 

It’s as if Dan’s hit with a sudden case of whiplash. Everything that happened at dinner had somehow slipped his mind while talking with his mum, and now he’s jolted back into an uncomfortable reality. It feels like the blood in his veins have turned to ice.

“M—, uh, Lydia” he stutters over her name, “I’m so, so sorr—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Lydia says, and… wait, what?

“What? Of course I do.”

“You mentioned at dinner you two got… I mean, became partners before you moved to London, right?”

“Um, yeah. 2012. In April. On the 14th,” Dan says, and wow apparently he’s incapable of talking in complete sentences now, “but like I said, we didn’t have like a celebration or anything. We still refer to each other as ‘best friend’ around most people. Not that you’re ‘most people’ or anything, because you’re not, I just—”

“We kind of are, aren’t we?” Lydia muses, now looking up at the sky as if it would hold the answer.

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just mean… god, I don’t know. I’m just so sorry I didn’t tell you right away, I should h—”

Lydia once again interrupts.

“I remember what was happening at the time, how we all... how we were. Adam can have a very selective memory when he wants to but I can’t do that.”  

Lydia sounds like she’s going to say more but she cuts herself off and keeps looking up at the sky.

He’s not sure what she’s talking about and he has a relatively good memory. The last _big_ fight was when Dan dropped out of Uni, but that was almost a year prior.

As if Lydia could hear Dan’s thoughts, she continues.

“After you dropped out of university, we went almost an entire year without talking,” Lydia points out, monotone, “we spoke on the phone four times: Mother’s Day, my birthday, Adam’s birthday, and Christmas. We saw each other once when we celebrated Grandma and Grandad’s anniversary.”

She pauses. Her voice is flat when she continues.

“You called the home phone another five times and left a message. I called you twice and left a message, once on Easter and once the day after your birthday.”

Lydia shakes her head and laughs, dry and solemn.   

“I wouldn’t have bothered to tell us either, if I was you,” Lydia admits, and for some reason _that_ is what hurts Dan the most.

“I wanted to tell you, but I was too scared of what you might say,” Dan admits, “and as time went on I just didn’t know how to bring it up.  I was going to tell you this weekend, though, it’s one of the reasons I kept asking you to come.”

Lydia doesn’t say anything to that and Dan fights off his instincts to start talking again to fill the silence. Enough time passes for Dan to wonder if she’s waiting for him to leave—she went through two cigarettes a long time ago and doesn’t seem like she’s going to start a third, and she hasn’t stopped studying the dark sky above. She seems so lost in thought she might have just forgot he’s standing there.

Dan’s finally decided he should leave when Lydia breaks out of her trance.

“I always feel so sad when I see the moon. It just seems so…lonely.”

Dan joins her in watching the moon and for some reason he understands exactly what she means.  He takes in what little you can see in the sky since the light pollution and smog hide most of the stars, but the more he looks the more his heart aches with useless compassion.

“Nothing could be lonelier than being a star,” Dan notes, “it looks like each star is surrounded by countless others, but really they’re thousands and millions of light-years away, still within sight but too far away to do anything but look. It’s like the universe is taunting them with a prize they can never win.”  

“Yeah,” Lydia says, “I guess you’re right.”

 

~*~

 

Dan has a very intimate relationship with insomnia; it’s a familiar presence that always looms somewhere in his peripheral no matter what medication or diet or regiment he’s on. 

It’s a normal thing for him but it greatly worries everyone else, all insisting that it’s something to be dealt with because you need sleep to be healthy just close your eyes and focus on your breathing it’ll be easier to fall asleep if you stick to a regular schedule why isn’t anything we do working maybe we need to tweak your prescription bit are you sure— 

Dan doesn’t mention it anymore, the times he sometimes goes days without sleeping, the times where he goes a week with only three hours of sleep a night.  He stopped mentioning it to Dr. Pitt, who he knows would get the disappointed look in her eyes, disappointed with yet another example of Dan’s failure to attain the unobtainable “meaningful progress” she always goes on about.  

The most difficult challenge is downplaying it around Phil, which he’s determined to do. He can’t (won’t) tell Phil any of this, can’t (won’t) burden Phil with another addition to the list of Dan’s failures (a list Dan aptly named _Reasons Why Phil Should Dump his Fucked-Up Partner_ ).   

Yes, the rational part of him knows Phil would still keep loving him unconditionally, but it’s hard to remember that when Phil reacts so enthusiastically, when he gets all weird and concerned and adamantly tries to _fix_ everything and it’s just too much—too much, fuck, how ungrateful can Dan even be? What kind of man resents his partner for being too attentive and caring?

And Dan can’t blame Phil for making it his personal mission to manage Dan’s kaleidoscope of mental problems. He knows what Phil’s trying to avoid, he doesn’t have to be a first-hand spectator to know how scary he can be during what Phil delicately refers to as an “episode.”  

Phil actively avoids talking about how Dan’s mental health affects him, something that bothers Dr. Pitt endlessly when he accompanies Dan to a session every other month. Yet, one night during the U.S. tour, properly sloshed and buzzing with the residual adrenalin from preforming still racing through their bodies, Phil’s lips revealed secrets he never planned on voicing.

 

Dan remembers it felt like this:

Phil’s voice as soothing as the still night air sneaking through the open windows.  

Phil’s scent comforting despite the bitter smell of bourbon and vodka lingering in each breath.

Phil’s hands so soft and familiar against Dan’s skin.

Phil’s eyes so intense yet also brimming with unguarded vulnerability.

 

Dan has a harder time recalling Phil’s words, but he remembers his guilt bubbling to the surface when Phil voiced his fears.

_Insomnia. Waking up to see you with those dark shadows you get under your eyes or that vacant stare you have when you’re restless._

Dan replies but fails to say anything comforting. At some point, though, he asks _why_.

_Because that’s how it always starts._

Phil has said things like that before but usually when he knows Dan’s too unfocused to converse.  Dan’s present enough now to silently ask Phil to elaborate.  

_It’s terrifying, knowing what’s likely coming next and there’s nothing I can do to stop it._

Dan ineloquently points out how Phil’s the one who stops Dan from skipping his appointments like he sometimes wants to, and Phil’s the one who keeps him from “forgetting” to take his medication. Hell, Phil’s the reason he sought treatment in the first place.

Nothing in Phil changes and Dan’s unsure if he way even listening, but suddenly Phil’s sitting up and moving a few inches away until they’re no longer pressed together.

_I have nightmares sometimes—you motionless in that bathtub, you ripping out three of your nails without even noticing, you disappearing for six days without me knowing if you’re okay. Things like that. It’s been a long time since… since anything got that bad, but it feels like it just happened and it’s just… I don’t know._

By now they’re both mostly sober. Dan doesn’t think he can speak so instead he watches Phil fidget next to him, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt and wrapping it around his fingers. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Dan’s covering Phil’s hand with his own. Phil lets go of his shirt to tangle their fingers together. 

Dan doesn’t say anything else that night: not when getting dressed for bed, not when standing side by side brushing their teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, not when turn off all the lights in the hotel suite.

They settle on opposite sides of the bed and a few quiet minutes pass. Dan’s mind, however, is not so quiet, and is instead shouting at him to say something since he’ll be too much of a coward to ever mention it again. It’s true, he knows it’s true, in the morning they’ll pretend this conversation never happened, tuck it away in the corners of their minds, hide it in a box labeled “emotional conversations I don’t want to deal with.” 

But it’s not the morning yet and Dan’s chest feels too tight because it hurts knowing that _he’s_ causing Phil to have nightmares, that _he’s_ the source of so much of Phil’s worries.

He wants to apologize but, he knows Phil wouldn’t like that.

He wants to thank him but, Dan doesn’t know if there’s words to describe what he wants to convey.

He wants to—

Dan’s not sure who moves first, only that one second they’re on opposite sides of the bed and the next their lips are pressed tightly together and they’re holding each other with something akin to desperation.

They don’t speak as they move together; instead, they their bodies confess all their scattered thoughts and emotions—legs tangled together, lips pressed against skin, hands gripping hair with a tight fist.

Once Phil falls asleep Dan rolls onto his back, body stiff as he stares up at the ceiling. He listens to Phil’s steady breathing with a single-minded focus He tries to imitate Phil’s breathing in hopes to trick his body into sleep.  It doesn’t work, but the repetition is comforting nonetheless.

In the morning Dan makes sure to smile and say he had a great rest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s attitude towards hiding things from his psychiatrist is a perfect example of what not to do! Don’t be like me and withhold info from a mental health professional just because you’re embarrassed or feel like you’d be a burden mentioning something you’ve been struggling with. 
> 
> Also, I know I've said it before, but again THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and kudos. I'm an overly nervous person so I'm sorry for not responding to any of them, just know that I appreciate y'all (I know it's weird, but I sometimes screenshot your comments and keep them in a folder in my phone...)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! Leave a comment with your thoughts if you want (comments, even constructive criticism, makes me feel warm and tingly inside).
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr if you want <https://dontforgettopanic.tumblr.com/>


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